


Lofn

by SilverFountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Brotherly Love, Courtship, Durin Family, Durin's curse, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven History, Fantasy, Forbidden Love, Foretellings, Khuzdul, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Spiritualism, The Valar, Tolkien Lore, True Love, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Virgin Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 181,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFountains/pseuds/SilverFountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time the Longbeards of the Lonely Mountain used to live by a strict code of cultural and religious conduct. But Thorin is not his grandfather. His people have suffered great losses and hardship since the dragon came and as they have resettled halfway across the world he has allowed them a little more freedom than perhaps some approve of. But when the exiled King under the Mountain finds himself falling hopelessly in love with his very own nephew he knows that even he will not be immune from prosecution if anyone were to find out his dirty secret. And it could cost him and his secret lover their heads.</p><p>----<br/>This is a part-republished work, however, if you liked the story the first time round, I strongly ask you to read it again from the start as I have added a lot of new and additional things that give more background to where I am taking this story. New chapters start from chapter 42.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It was believed among his people that for every khuzd there was mahdulyusth, a divine mate chosen for the lucky dwarf by Mahal himself. It was the greatest blessing for any dwarf to find his one, his soulmate.

Few dwarves found their mahdulyusth in this mortal life. It was Mahal’s gift to reward a dwarf for his or her bravery and services to their Maker and most often that honour would not be bestowed upon them until they had lived their mortal life and entered His Halls of Waiting in the afterlife. This was the very reason why dwarves were not afraid to pass from this mortal world; why they welcomed a brave an honourable death. For as long as they lived their lives with honour and loyalty and according to the sacred rules of Mahal then eternal glory would be celebrated with the one Mahal had created for them for all eternity.

Of course dwarves took mates during their mortal life regardless of whether they believed them to be their mahdulyusth or not. Until their  _divine mate_  was found Mahal gave them the freedom to love freely and to reproduce as necessary and the dwarrow celebrated that gift as much as the gift of food and ale.

But not Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, crown prince of the dwarrow. His journey had been steered down a very lonely road from the moment their home had been destroyed by the greatest calamity of their time. He had not had time to court anyone. Barely of age, he became responsible for the safeguarding of his people, to lead them to a place they could call home when his elders were slaughtered.  And even when they had settled in lands so far from their homeland, his hands had been occupied with the hard labour in the forges of men to bring bread to the table of his people. And his mind had been filled with hatred for those that had betrayed them. He only longed to return to his people what was now lost. Dreamt of reclaiming his birth right and become the Highking under the Mountain. There was no space for anything else in his heart.

And so the years had passed and his youth had faded. Lines were now framing his eyes and silver was streaking his hair. Perhaps if he had not been the crown prince then the offers would have been ample. He was still handsome, strong and broad in his shoulders, his braided hair thick and luscious. Even the short beard he now sported, cut off after his brother’s death on the battlefield as a sign of mourning was a sign of his honour.

But he was the heir to the throne and with his grandfather dead and his father lost he was the highest ranking dwarf among his people. Their culture was rich with protocol and decorum and insult was easily given. As such no dwarf could come up to court him. Such a gesture would be more than disrespectful and it simply would not happen. The initiative would have to be his.

And he had never taken it and now that he had passed the age of one hundred and fifty his celibacy had become another part of his martyrdom. For he deserved no such pleasure whilst the kingdom of his forefathers lay under the feet of the enemy.

Initially his people had begun to flourish once more as they had settled in Khagal'abbad, dwarvish lands of old. But over time their homesickness had started to grow. And Thorin knew that his sole purpose in this life, the destiny that Mahal had bestowed upon him, was to return to the Lonely Mountain and reclaim his throne. It was the task that would earn him his mahdulyasthûna, his divine bride, when he bowed down before Mahal. To the saviour of his soul it mattered not whether he failed or succeeded in this task. That fate lay in their Maker’s hands after all. But he had to try. Sitting back and letting his life slip away was no option.

So each night he returned to his chambers alone as he continued to ponder how he could achieve what his father and grandfather had failed to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> khuzd - dwarf  
> mahdulyusth - blessed mate  
> Khagal'abbad - Blue Mountains  
> mahdulyasthûna - blessed bride or wife


	2. Nephews

The day that Dís had birthed her first son, the next Durin heir, had been the happiest day of his sorrowful life. He had held the khazdith in his great big hands and had marvelled at how this baby was such a perfect miniature version of his brother Frerin. And he had thanked Mahal on his knees for returning the image of his beloved brother to the House of Durin in the face of the next heir to the throne.

“Fíli,” he had given his sister-son his outername.  _Light_. His true name would be given to him by Dís as would have been revealed to her by Mahal during her many months of prayers in the temples throughout her pregnancy.

 _Bucks_ , that is male dwarves, generally did not involve themselves in the raising of their kin until their  _cossets_  came of age. They had no business meddling in such matters, which was the task gifted to the  _dams_  or females of their kind. A buck only stayed with a dam and cared for his sons and daughters directly if the mother washis mahdulyasthûna. Only then would a couple bind and move out of their respective separate communities to live together in the handful of homes for settled families. Generally, however, the father would leave the child with the mother and the females of her family to care for and raise the child within her community; leaving both partners free to love again and free to find their mahdulyusth in this life or the next. Such was their custom.  

Dwarf boys would move to the male community when they came of age at the age of forty. At that point they would learn their warrior skills and their father’s trade, the same as dwarf girls would learn their mother’s trade whilst they lived in the female community. Such too was their custom.

But Thorin and Dís were royalty and their arrangements were somewhat different. They lived in separate quarters, between the two communities, where they were looked after by their servants and protected by their guards. And Thorin cared for his sister-son as were he the babe’s mother; bathing him, cuddling him, telling him stories and putting him to bed.

It was an unusual set up. The male guards frowned at Thorin, the rightful heir to the throne of all kings, for taking on a role clearly intended for a dam. He was their warlord and seeing him coo at the little blond dwarfling was an odd sight that they did not know how to respond to. It was not right; it was not what a buck of Thorin’s standing should do.

Initially no-one dared pull the dwarf prince up on his behaviour. But eventually Dwalin, after having listened to his men for long enough, pulled the crown prince friend aside.

“Thorin, yer men, they question why ya involve yerself so much with the khazdith. They say it’s a dam’s job.”

Thorin scowled at his best friend. “Fíli is my heir,” he simply replied. “Would any of my warriors question the fact that the next heir to the throne is groomed by their king so that one day he may shoulder the same responsibilities as I do?”

Thorin did not raise his voice, but Dwalin could sense the venom in his tone sure enough. “Zabadê, it is not our custom,” he tried once more.

“Is that your opinion too?”

Dwalin lowered his gaze under Thorin’s intense stare.

“Tell your warriors that neither is it our custom that their king should be working in the forges of men. Do they question my honour whilst I provide for their housing and their food? Whilst I have sacrificed everything to bring us to the safety of Khagal'abbad? Answer me that, Dwalin.”

And Dwalin bowed his head in reprimand. Thorin was right. He had never ‘played king’. He had never sat on his temporary throne demanding that his people worked to provide for him. He had given everything for the well-being of his people including his own happiness. And Dwalin took the message back to his men sure enough, knocking out cold the next dwarf who dared make an inappropriate comment about Thorin taking care of his baby nephew.

Equally Dís’ maidens whispered behind her back about how she should not let her brother get involved in such matters and rather raise the boy properly until the day he would come of age. But she simply ignored the gossip and watched her brother care for her child with pleasure in her heart. She too felt the sorrow of their lost homeland every moment of their exiled life, but she knew that was nothing compared to the burden that rested on her brother’s shoulders. And seeing him smile again at the gurgling babe in his arms was the greatest gift she could give him, no matter what custom told her.

Thorin had been surprised yet elated when his sister had told him she was expecting again. It was soon, only five years since Fíli was born, which was exceptional for a dam, who generally did not conceive again for a period of closer to nine years apart if they were so blessed. He had picked his sister up in his strong arms and kissed her on the forehead whilst twirling the both of them around until Dís had banged her fists on his shoulders warning him she would be sick if he did not put her down. Thereafter he had doted on her and his baby nephew like precious gemstones. And he had spent many nights telling Fíli what a wonderful big brother he was going to be and what a lovely little brother or sister he was going to have.

Dams birthed in secret in the community birthing house, even if they did not live in the community themselves. This was their battle, their honour to show their bravery to the Great Smith as they risked their lives to birth their offspring into this world. Many dams died during the long period of labour, which could last up to a moon’s cycle. And as such mothers were given equal status and honour as warriors who had fought in battle. And should a mother pass away during labour then the baby would be quickly taken in by her wider family and community. Durin’s folk were a close-knit people and everyone was taken care of.

Now the time had come for Dís to go away to have her second baby. And Thorin had paced his quarters for days on end in agonising anticipation of her return, driving everyone around him mad.

“Zabadê, she will be in labour for many more days,” Balin, one of Thorin’s closest friends and most trusted advisors, had tried carefully. “You need to get some rest. Please let the maidens take care of Fíli and get some sleep.”

But Thorin had stubbornly shaken his head as he continued to bounce the babe in his arms. “I will rest when Dís is safely back and my new nephew is in my arms,” he had growled softly before turning his back and chattering to Fíli about how soon his ‘amad would return and his little brother or sister would be with them.

Dwalin had pulled at his brother’s arm, telling him to leave Thorin alone, knowing that there was no point trying to convince him otherwise.

Normally no news would come from the dams’ community whilst a mother was in labour. But Thorin was their king – even without his official throne certainly most of Durin’s folk considered him as such – and Dís a royal princess. He was kept informed of at least her and her baby’s wellbeing during the weeks of waiting. Yet as time passed he grew increasingly impatient with worry until eventually he could stand it no more and he finally handed over Fíli to the maidens who served his sister as he strode over to the dams’ community area, drawing surprised and shocked looks from the dwarrowdams he passed on his way to the birthing house.

“Zabadê,” the dam at the entrance to the private quarters spread her skirts wide as she curtsied, “you may not enter.  _Narrûna_ Dís is not yet ready to see you.”

Thorin frowned but had to accept the maiden’s instruction. He should not even be here at all and his pacing these halls had earned him many scowls from the dams around him. Bucks had no right to enter these sacred halls uninvited and his royal status did not elevate him above such custom.

One of the elder dams was just about to walk up to him and ask him in the nicest possible way to return to his own quarters until he was called, when a healthy cry could be heard from inside the birthing chamber. Before she could stop him Thorin broke every rule in the book as he burst into the room, drawing horrified gasps from the maidens that were attending to his sister.

But Thorin cared not as he took the screaming bundle of dark hair from Dís’ outstretched arms into his as his sister smiled a tired but happy smile at him. Thorin opened up the blanket just enough to identify the babe as a little boy. The khazdith had a strong pair of lungs on him as he turned a deep shade of red at his indignity for being exposed to the cold air even for the briefest of moments before Thorin wrapped him back up again.

“Kíli,” he whispered. The name meant  _earth_  or  _soil_  which the dwarves considered a sacred element as it was a giver of life. He brought his nephew up to his face, placing a blessing upon his brow, before he returned the babe to Dís’ arms. She smiled at him as he kissed her gently. “Come home soon, namad.” And he turned and left to return to his own quarters before he would be unceremoniously removed from the room by the elder dam, regardless of his ranking.

***

As the brothers grew up in the royal quarters, rather than with the other dwarflings in the dams’ quarters, their world was limited to each other, their mother, uncle and the servants and guards that looked after them. And Thorin watched over them like a lion, never leaving them out of his sight.

And as the boys grew older their differences became more and more apparent. Fíli looked more like Frerin as each day passed. His golden hair shone bright as liquid gold. He was a contemplative child, who watched the world around him with his bright blue eyes, drinking in everything as he churned the experiences over in his head before turning to his uncle with endless curious questions.  _Why do dams wear skirts and bucks breeches? If milk comes from goats what animal does beer come from? Why does Dwalin have drawings on his head? Why is my hair blond when yours is black?_ And as he grew older,  _What lies beyond the Blue Mountains? Are there other dwarrow in Middle Earth? Why did Smaug burn down our home? Will we ever go back to Azsâlul'abad?_   He sucked the information others gave him up like barren soil swells after a heavy rainfall, each day learning more about their customs and history, their language and culture.

Kíli was very much his opposite. As passive as Fíli was in his learning, Kíli was active. He was a very tactile child, wanting to touch, hold and taste everything. Thorin and Dís had their hands full trying to keep him from slicing his fingers on any weaponry that had not been kept enough out of Kíli’s reach or from poisoning himself by wanting to eat the bright red berries that grew on the big yew tree. He too had lots of questions for Thorin, but they were mainly about him wanting to get out and experience the world more fully.  _Can I come with you, irak'adad, when you go hunting? Why am I not allowed to go outside on my own? Can I play in the snow with Fíli, irak'adad? Why do I have to be inside when it gets dark?_

Dís felt blessed seeing her children grow up as friends as much as brothers. It reminded her of her younger days with her brothers in Azsâlul'urd. They too had been protected khazâd, similarly kept out of normal society with only each other to play with. And they had grown very close because of it. Of course they had argued as her boys did now. But the love that ran between her and her brother was deep and strong and she could see that Kíli and Fíli were building the same bond.

When Fíli came of age, Thorin took him to work in the forge with him. As with everything Fíli was quick learner, eager to please his uncle and keen to learn this new skill. He impressed Thorin with both his strength and his attention to detail and sooner than expected Fíli was forging more complicated artefacts than some of the more experienced and much older dwarves were. And Fíli swelled with pride whenever Thorin smiled at him when he had delivered a good piece.

He also joined the few of other young bucks now as they were given weapon training by Dwalin. Fíli was nowhere near the strongest of his age – having lived a protected life for so long he had missed out on the scrabbles that the other boys had got up to and he was very much an outsider in their already small group – but his dedication to his craft made him a formidable opponent nonetheless and he held his ground well enough with skill, cunningness and willpower as the others tried to overpower him with brute force.

Kíli suffered the absence of his brother during those five years before he came of age too. He was now the only child living in the royal quarters and without his brother to play with he quickly got bored, thus getting up to even more mischief and landing himself in even more trouble than he had up till then with his brother. At least Fíli had been afraid of Thorin’s anger and punishment and had reined his little brother in from time to time. But Kíli seemed to brim with defiance.

Whenever Thorin came back from working in the towns of men Dís would list the troubles her youngest had gotten himself into during the day. And Thorin would duly pull Kíli aside and deliver whatever he deemed an appropriate punishment for his misdemeanour. But his chastisement of Kíli was never as harsh as it was of Fíli. Thorin knew he was more forgiving of Kíli’s mischief for whereas Fíli was his heir, Kíli held a very special place in his heart indeed. And Kíli knew just how to wind his uncle around his finger, staring up at him with his big brown eyes sparkling with glee, softening Thorin’s stern heart so that he got away with much more than he would otherwise have.

And already the chasm between how Thorin loved his heir and how he loved his youngest nephew was growing, even if it was still unbeknownst to his conscious self.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> khazdith - tiny / new dwarf (dwarf newborn)  
> mahdulyusth - blessed mate  
> mahdulyasthûna - blessed wife  
> Khagal'abbad - the Blue Mountains  
> zabadê - my lord  
> ‘amad - mother  
> narrûna - superior-lady (title given to Lady Dis, sister of Thorin)  
> namad - sister  
> Azsâlul'urd - Lonely Mountain  
> irak'adad - uncle (lit. side father)


	3. Kíli

Thorin had barely noticed Fíli becoming an adult. It had happened gradually as one would expect. His limbs had started to firm up over time as he practised with sword and laboured in the forge. His beard had begun to grow and was now framing his young face beautifully, his moustache braids donning the beads of their lineage. And over time he had become a handsome buck, drawing plenty of interested glances from both communities as he strode through their small mountain settlement with the flair of the prince that he was.

However it feels to Thorin like Kíli has suddenly become an adult overnight. He is sure that only yesterday his nephew was still a pesky child who he had had over his knee yet again for sneaking into the weapon stores. However, as he appears in his chambers this morning to apologise for his behaviour, Thorin’s breath catches in his throat. Kíli must have literally just rolled out of bed as his hair is even less untamed as usual and apart from his breeches he is wearing little else.

Thorin can feel an unwanted blush creep into his cheeks as he finds himself staring at his nephew and he quickly averts his eyes. “What is this, _nudn_?” he growls. “Showing yourself before me in such a state. Get out and get dressed. You will address me properly when you have sorted yourself out.”

He catches Kíli’s shocked look in the corner of his eyes. Kíli had appeared before him like this before and it had never been a problem. But he had been a dwarfling then. Now he is almost an adult. He will shake off his childhood in less than a moon cycle. And he needs to learn that it is no longer appropriate to appear before his king in such a state of undress.

“Kun, Thorin,” Kíli grumbles, before he quickly leaves the room.

Thorin can hear himself sigh audibly in relief when the door falls shut. What is the matter with him? He had held Kíli in his arms on the day he was born. He had spent the last nearly forty years caring for him as if he were his own child – changing his swaddling bands, bathing him, singing him to sleep, kissing the grazes on his knees better, putting wet cloths on his forehead when he had a temperature, teaching him their spoken and unspoken language, showing him how to hunt. So what has changed in the space of one day that his nephew had no longer appeared to be that same khuzd? That when he had appeared in his rooms just now it had stirred something inside Thorin; a deep guttural feeling that made him wobble on his seat and made the room temperature feel like a forge.

The shock at the realisation hits him no less hard than a fist in the face would have. He had felt an attraction seeing his nephew standing before him looking like he had just tumbled out of his bed. It had been just a tingling, nothing too inappropriate… But he catches himself with an inwards facing anger boiling in his stomach. How can he even think that? Of course it was inappropriate to think of his nephew in any way other than his sister-son.

He rubs a hand hard over his face as he tries to pull himself together. He must have been mistaken. Kíli had just caught him off guard. When he returns to him, dressed appropriately to seek audience with his elder and king, such a ridiculous notion would of course be forgotten. His mind had just been playing tricks. It was early still and he had not gone to bed until late last night as he had spent many hours debating with Balin on how they would convince Dáin to aid their quest to rid the Lonely Mountain of the dragon inside. He is just tired.

***

“You’re back quickly,” Fáli observes as his brother storms through into their bedroom, thunder written on his face. “What happened?”

“Thorin exerting his authority is what happened! Not only do I still have to suffer the humiliation of his hand slapping my butt raw to then have to grovel before him the next morning seeking his forgiveness. But now it is not good enough that I offer my apologies looking like this. He sent me away, telling me to get dressed before I see him.”

Fíli smiles. He had raised an eyebrow when his little brother had gone to see Thorin looking as he did. Had Kíli not noticed that he was no longer a child? That his body had started to shape into that of an adult dwarf, with dark hair starting to adorn his arms, legs, chest and jaw? “But Kíli, you should be honoured,” he soothes. “It means uncle sees you as a buck now. You are nearly of age, nadad. And you need to start behaving around our king as such.”

Kíli huffs. “I would if he didn’t still spank me like a child.”

But Fíli shakes his head. “You should count yourself lucky. I get his belt nowadays. He is still our uncle. And you do invite it. You wouldn’t have to go through that so often if you didn’t have such a knack for finding trouble.”

Kíli continues to huff and sulk through every second that he is pulling on his tunic and lacing up his boots, looking much less like an adult and much more like a child as he does so. Fíli has come over to him and his combing through his long hair, pulling some of the strands into a silver clasp, even though he knows that within the hour Kíli will have pulled his hair free from the adornment once more.

“Come now, nadad,” Fíli says patiently. “Thorin is never harsh on you. You are his favourite after all.” It is a joke. Something that Kíli himself used to say teasingly whenever he got away with his mischief when Fíli knows he would have been left standing for a good few days for respect of his uncle’s punishment.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kíli snorts, swatting his brother’s hand away. “He loves us both equally.”

Fíli doesn’t retort, but he thinks, _equally but not the same._ He is not jealous over it. Thorin does love him just as much, he knows that. But he has always had the feeling that Kíli does hold a place in their uncle’s heart that he will never be able to occupy, even if Kíli seems quite unaware of this.

When Kíli is dressed and ready, he curtsies for his brother like a dam. “You think Bunmuhu will find this acceptable?” he spits.

Fíli just laughs. “You have his temperament, nadad, so you should know. Just humour him. Insulting him is only going to earn you further punishment.”

The thing is Kíli hadn’t been upset because Thorin had sent him away to get dressed. It was the way in which he had done it. He had turned away from him as if in disgust. And it had confused the young khuzd. He had always felt close to his uncle and he has no idea why Thorin had reacted the way he had, snapping at him completely out of the blue like that. If Thorin was no longer alright with Kíli not being dressed like a courtier around him than he could have given him a heads up rather than scold him like he had.

He knocks on Thorin’s door again, waiting to be called in. His uncle’s deep voice comes almost immediately as he orders Kili to enter.

“That is much better,” Thorin observes as his nephew enters the room for the second time this morning, relieved that his flesh is covered up by his royal tunic this time.

Kíli is throwing daggers at him with his eyes, his jaw set hard, which takes Thorin aback for a moment. He is even more surprised when Kili kneels in front of him, bowing his head in service.

“You don’t have to bow to me, silly boy,” Thorin says kindly but the smile is wiped off his face as Kili’s head snaps up, his eyes blazing.

“I am no boy, _Uzbad_ _ê,”_ Kíli retorts quickly. “I am nearly of age. And if I am to address you properly from now on as you seem to be expecting of me I would be grateful if you would do the same in return.” His insolence would have earned anyone else a slap around the head if not worse and Thorin is struggling to hold back his temper. However, he is more upset at Kíli’s odd statement than angry.

He walks over until he stands right before his nephew. “Get up, Kíli,” he orders in a calm, but stern voice.

Kíli obliges and raises himself to his full height, standing almost nose to nose with Thorin, his scowl still darkening his eyes under his `heavy eyebrows.

“What is the matter, Kíli? Why are you so angry with me?”

They stare at each other silently for a moment. It is a battle of wills they have fought plenty of times over the past years. Fíli is right, their temperament it much alike and it has caused plenty of sparks to fly in years passed. And as Kíli had got older Thorin had found himself on even par with his nephew more often than having the upper hand in their staring competitions.

When Kíli does not respond Thorin tentatively puts his hand on Kili’s shoulder, but the brunet shrinks away from him, the gesture making Thorin withdraw his hand just as quickly.

“Do not give me confusing messages, _Uzbad_ _ê_. This morning I was not deemed fit to seek audience with my king. Now you wish to hold me like your nephew. Which is it you want me to be, Thorin?”

Thorin looks at Kíli is surprise. “I am your uncle, Kíli. But I am also your elder and your superior in rank. And when you join my army I will be your warlord. I have to be all those things and situation dictates which of those roles I have to play at any given time. And you will be expected to do the same, nudnê.”

Kíli glares at him for a moment longer, before he lowers his eyes. And he whispers, sounding young and confused rather than defiant once more, “Then what am I now?”

Thorin considers the question. But he is unable to form an answer now Kíli’s features have softened. When Kíli looks up again when no response is forthcoming, their gaze locks and Thorin’s mouth feels dry.

And suddenly all he can think is that he wants to kiss him. That he wants to press his lips against Kíli’s and feel him return the kiss.

He only just manages to snap himself out of it. “You are irakdashatê,” he answers with finality, a statement as much intended in reply to Kíli’s question as a reminder to himself. He steps out of Kíli’s personal space and returns to his desk without looking back. “You are dismissed,” he waves his hand blindly. Kíli has not even given him his apology. But he just needs him to leave. Right now. Before he does something he will regret forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nudn(ê) - (my) boy  
> kun - yes  
> nadad - brother  
> Bunmuhu - His Grace  
> Uzbadê - my king  
> irakdashatê - my nephew (lit. side-son)


	4. Coming of Age

Coming of Age ceremonies were elaborate at the best of times, but with Kíli being a princeling the splendour was turned up a notch. Both dwarven communities have come together in the Great Hall of their temporary mountain home and by the time Kíli entered, hiding a little shyly behind his big brother at the sight of so many khazâd, the noise of laughter and loud chatter is already filling the space. Large banners adorning the heraldry of the House of Durin hang from the high ceiling and food and ale fill the long stone tables that seat every dwarrow in Khagal’abbad. It is on occasions such as these that the normally separate communities would mix and the adults were making the most of catching up with their brethren and taking the opportunity to express their interest in a potential mate within the opposite camp.

Kíli’s formal ceremony had been held in private earlier in the day in the Great Temple. The young prince had been scrubbed from top to toe – he didn’t think he had ever been this clean in his life – and dressed in the dark blue and silver ceremonial garments of his family. He had been instructed to enter the Temple alone and barefoot, his head covered by the dark blue hood of his tunic. The priests had made him kneel on the stone before the huge statue of The Maker and recite the lengthy prayers that they had been teaching him for these past few months. By the end of it all Kíli’s knees had ached and his mouth had felt dry when they had finally hoisted him to his feet. They had then ordered him to remove his hood and they had smeared mud over his forehead and his hands. They had given him a cup of water to drink whilst they had waved the large feathers of the grand mountain eagles that made his hair blow into his face. These symbolised the three elements of earth, water and air, he knew from his studies with Balin.

Finally the fourth element had been revealed when the dwarrow priests had slid apart the red hot iron covers over the fire pit. It had been the one thing that Kíli had not been able to fully prepare himself for. You could not just do a trial firewalk; it was a religious ceremony that was only to be carried out within the temple under the guidance of the priests. He should not even have known about it, but Thorin had forewarned him and had done his best to reassure him. Yet the sight of the glowing coal had nonetheless stopped his heart still for just a beat. “Focus,” the priests had told him. “Let Mahal guide you.” He was sure that he would get burnt. That Mahal would not let him cross the glowing pit safely and that he would fail the ritual and have to wait another moon cycle before he was allowed to try again. “Trust in Him,” had come the final word of encouragement from the priests. And he had. He had focused every ounce of his consciousness on the impressive statue of their Maker, the Great Smith, and had recited the prayers in his head as he had stepped over the coals.

And now all his kinsfolk are gathered here to celebrate his coming of age. He is a buck now. Finally allowed to join his brother at weapon practice and learn a trade. Kíli already knows he wants to be a hunter. Thorin had started to take him out on hunts in the last two years of his childhood and he had loved nothing better than stalking through the forest in search of deer and boar to feed his people. He had been allowed to try various weapons under the strict supervision of his uncle, but he had quickly found that the bow and arrow were his weapons of choice. And he had glowed with pride when Thorin had praised how quickly he had picked up the skill; Thorin himself a fine bowman although his uncle preferred the broadsword.

Formalities are over now. Unlike the elves, the khazâd were not a people for stiff decorum when it came to feasting. Such traditions were kept to the ceremonies within their temples. Tonight they would feast and drink and sing and dance until the dawn or they had passed out from ale, whichever came first.

Fíli leads his now grown up brother to the royal table where they take their place next to Dís, who is sat on her brother’s right.

Balin smiles warmly at the dark haired prince from across the table.” Congratulations, Zabad Kíli.” It is the first time anyone has addressed him by his new title and Kíli feels himself sit a little straighter for it.

“Akhminruki astû, Zirak Balin.”

He looks over to Thorin. Things had felt strained between them over the past month, since their altercation in Thorin’s chambers. It hurts Kíli deeply how Thorin appears to have distanced himself from him since that day and he is confused and angry by it. He had tried to talk to Fíli, but his brother had just brushed it off, saying that he was over analysing things and that Thorin just had a lot on his mind with the preparations for their march onto Azsâlul'urd which Thorin had promised would be imminent.

Thorin catches his glance and gives him a warm smile. “Congratulations, Zabad Kíli Ursûn.” It is an honorary title given to those who completed the fire ritual, meaning fire-buck. Thorin lays his palm over his heart in a sign of the honour Kíli had bestowed upon their family. Kíli knows that is what the sign means, but he also knows it is only the bend little finger away from their sign for love. And he cannot help but wonder why Thorin had chosen this particular sign to congratulate Kíli on his coming of age.

They hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds until Kíli nods his head in thanks, before they both turn back to their respective conversations and celebrations going on around them.

***

Kíli has no idea what the time is when he finally stumbles into his bedchamber, but he is so tired that he falls asleep on the furs still fully clothed. Fíli comes in a little after him and manages to pull the blankets over Kíli as he strokes through his hair. “Proud of you, nadad,” he whispers, placing a kiss against his temple before crawling under the furs himself.

***

“Kíli,” Fíli says as they are getting dressed the next morning. “Thorin has asked me to have a chat with you.”

He had been mortified when his uncle had asked him to do this. Especially since after his own coming of age Thorin had not even spoken to Fili himself about the matter, but instead had asked Balin to; much to Fili’s horror.

What Fíli didn’t know, however, was that Thorin had felt embarrassed beyond measure that he had had to ask Balin to give Fíli the schooling in the dwarrow protocol of courtship. But he’d wanted his beloved nephew to have a better chance at it than himself and had not thought it fair to lecture Fíli in something he had so little experience of himself. Even worse for the crown prince had been the pitied look that Balin had given him at the request and Thorin had quickly strode out of the room before his friend could say anything more. He did not want or need to be pitied. If he wanted to court anyone he would. But he had more important things on his mind than to worry about such juvenile nonsense. His time would come once he had fulfilled his duties. And he was well aware that could mean that it would not happen in his mortal life. But if such was Mahal’s wish then so mote it be.

Kíli looks at his brother with a suspicious glance. “What chat?”

“Look, Kee, this is just as awkward for me as it is for you,” Fíli sighs. “At least you don’t have Master Balin telling you how it all works so give me some slack, will you.”

The lesson is really more about custom than anything else. How one is to court another khuzd. How Kíli, like his uncle and brother being the most senior in rank within their communities, would have to be the one to initiate any such courtship and what that required.

Kíli listened to it all half-heartedly. He had neither much interest in wooing any dwarrowdam or –buck or in the dwarvish protocol. He thought it all sounded like an awful lot of hard work with a great risk of offending someone and he could not understand why anyone would want to go through all that trouble. For what?

“So what is the point in all of this?” he asks.

Fíli sighs, looking a little flustered. “Look, I am not really supposed to talk to you about it.”

It is supposed to be another sacred ritual and like many of their other rituals they are not supposed to know about it upfront. The act itself is not something they discuss - Kíli will learn that from his first chosen mate. Equally, pregnancy does not even come into the equation since the prince will not reach his fertile age for another thirty-five years, by which time surely he will have a good understanding of the mechanics of it all. So Fíli chooses his words carefully, not wanting to give away too much. “It is something for you to learn about with your first mate when you chose one. But … it feels good …” he smirks at his little brother, blushing deeply now.

“Oh, you have!” Kíli’s eyes grow large as he looks at his brother. He still doesn’t really know what goes on after you have gone through all the hassle of courting someone, but he knows it is supposed to be this big amazing thing that all the bucks certainly rave about when they have a little too much to drink. And once you have done it – whatever  _it_  is – then apparently you can brag about it a plenty with the other bucks.

“Yes,” Fíli beams. “But I can’t tell you. You just need to find a mate, okay. And then we can talk about it.”

Kíli sits himself back on to the bed. “Sounds like a lot of hassle to me.”

Fili takes his place next to him, nudging his brother. “It is, but trust me it is worth it. Now, there is another thing I am supposed to tell you about. Mahdulyusthzu _.”_ This time Kíli’s ears prick up. It is a term he is a little familiar with as it has been mentioned in his lessons with the priests as the ultimate reward for bravery, honour and servitude to Mahal. “As you know it is unlikely that Mahal will grand you mahdulyasthunâzu before you go to the Halls of Waiting. But it  _does_  happen for the greatest among us. And if he bestows you such honour then you will be expected to move with mahdulyasthunâzu to the Married Quarters and you may not court anyone thereafter.”

“You say mahdulyasthunâ,” Kíli interrupts at his brother. “Can my chosen one be mahdulyasthûn _?”_

Fíli just looks at his little brother with a mixture of confusion and shock. “Lu’.”

Kíli raises an eyebrow at him. “Why not? We are allowed to court another buck. Why can one not be my soulmate?”

It is a fair question but one that Fíli hadn’t expected and doesn’t know how to answer. All he knows he has never heard of it. Soulmates, as far as he knows, are a pairing between a buck and a dam. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I guess because two bucks or two dams cannot produce a child between them.”

“That makes no sense,” Kíli continues. “Surely a soulmate is someone we are supposed to spend the rest of our eternal life with until we return to Kamin for the final battle? What does that have to do with children? There are no children in Mahal’s Halls.” The dwarves believed that even if a child died before they came of age that they would grow up on reaching the afterlife. “And there are not as many dams as there are bucks. How can we all have a soulmate then?” Kíli challenges further.

“I really don’t know, Kee,” Fíli sighs a little frustrated with all the questions. What does Kíli think he is - a priest? He did not write the rules! “You will have to ask one of the priests if you really want to know. But I am pretty sure you can’t. Anyway, why are you so curious about that?”

Kíli just shrugs. He is hardly going to ask the next question he had in mind now Fíli had been so obviously dismissive of the first.

“How do I know when someone is mahdulyusthê?” he tries to steer the topic in a different direction.

“I think you just do.” Fíli is beginning to think maybe he should have asked more questions when Balin had spoken to him. If he is honest he had been far less interested in that part of the conversation than the bit around courtship and Kíli’s interest in the subject has taken him by surprise. “You may have to ask the mahdulkhazâd.” They were those honourable dwarves who now lived in the Married Quarters with their divine mate.

Kíli nods, rather unsatisfied by the lack of answers, but understanding that Fíli doesn’t want to continue this conversation. “Thanks, nadad,” he sighs as he gets up to ready himself to see Thorin. They are supposed to go hunting together and Kíli feels a little apprehensive as they have spoken so little to each other recently. Spending a whole day alone with his uncle may well prove a challenge.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khagal’abbad - the Blue Mountains  
> Zabad Kíli - Lord Kíli  
> Akhminruki astû, Zirak Balin - Thank you, Master Balin  
> mahdulyusthzu/ê - your/my soulmate  
> mahdulyasthunâzu - your divine bride  
> mahdulyasthûn - divine husband  
> lu' - no  
> Kamin - Earth  
> mahdulkhazâd - blessed dwarves


	5. Road Trip

When Kíli yanks open the door he almost walks straight into Thorin raised fist, standing on the other side about to knock. “Thorin!” he calls out in surprised fright, just dodging a collision. “I was just on my way…” He did not think he was running late, but now he was worried that he had inadvertently caused offence again.

“I came to tell you that you need to pack an overnight bag. The deer have moved to the lower valleys now that winter is here. We will have to ride beyond the woods. I intend for us to camp at the wood’s edge tonight,” Thorin states neutrally.

Kíli’s eyes grow large. Spending a whole day with Thorin when things seemed so awkward between them of late was going to be hard enough. But now he was going to have to spend a few  _days_  on the road with him? “Oh … right. Please give me a moment then, irak’adad.”

Thorin nods. “I will meet you at the stables. Make sure to bring your knives as well. In case we encounter any unwanted company.” The roads were becoming increasingly unsafe these days. Kíli would bring his skinning knife anyway, but it would be good to have some additional weapons between them. Some of their merchants had been caught out by marauding bandits only a few weeks back. And there had even been rumours of orcs in Azsâlzudûn. Thorin had prayed to Mahal that they would be spared such an encounter. 

Kíli groans as he closes the door behind him, causing Fíli to raise a questioning eyebrow. “What was that about?” the blond prince asks.

“Apparently I will be away for a few days. We’re going hunting down in the valley.”

“I would have thought you would be excited by that?” Fíli remarks as he pulls on his boots. “You have been whining for years you want to go and explore more of Azsâlzudûn.”

“Thank, nadad,” Kíli scowls at him. “I know that, but have you seen how Thorin has been with me lately? He barely says a word to me.”

“I have told you before to stop worrying, Kee. He is just busy. Neither of us get to spend any time with Thorin these days. So surely it is a treat to have his undivided attention for once?”

 _Kun, but he is not giving you those looks_ ¸ Kíli thinks, but the does not say it. He had noted Thorin’s lingering glances all too well, even if his words had been curt. They were exactly the looks Kíli _wanted_ his uncle to give him, yet every time their eyes had met Thorin had been quick to turn away from him and busy himself with one thing or another. And it was sending confusion through Kíli every time. He wanted Thorin to like him the way he liked him. Sometimes he thought he did, but then equally quickly he would dash any of his hopes when his uncle distanced himself from him like he never had before. Was that Thorin’s way of saying that he did not want to know? That he did not feel the same way after all?

Thorin feels apprehensive about the idea of taking Kíli away from home for a few days. His nephew had never before spent a night away from home and it should be an exciting trip out for him. But it would mean a lot of time with just the two of them. And Thorin has still not got over this strange sensation in his stomach every time he sees his nephew. He is not stupid nor is he a dwarfling. He had not felt this way about anyone for such a long time that he had tried to brush it off as something else. But as the feeling keeps grown stronger he can no longer deny that he feels a definite attraction to Kíli. He had tried his best to keep his distance without appearing too rude or cold towards his nephew. But it is hard. They live in the same quarters and see each other at least once a day at dinner. And every day he seems to struggle more keeping his eyes to himself, to think of Kíli as nothing more than his sister-son and the third in line to the throne.

_It can never be anything else!_

He has no dishonourable intentions. But this illness that has befallen him is bothering him a lot. It is not right, it is not proper, and he will surely be struck down if he does not repent for his sinful thoughts soon. And the thought any harm could come to Kíli as a result of his sin is sickening enough to want to claw out his own eyes.  He needs to pull himself together and be the father figure that he had promised to be in absence of Kíli’s real father. His nephew should not suffer or miss out because of him and he does not want things to be awkward between them on this trip.

As he checks over his saddle bags, making sure they have enough supplies to keep them going for at least three days – one day to travel out, one day to hunt and another to travel back – he has a stern internal dialogue with himself.  _Whatever you think your feelings are for Kíli, you are responsible for his safety. He is your sister-son, nothing can ever be between the two of you; it would be an abomination! You are more than twice his age, another reason that this cannot happen even if Mahal would not already rip out your heart for your blood relation to him. Pull yourself together. You have never acted this irrationally around anyone before so do not start acting like a juvenile now. You need to look after him on this trip as his elder and his ranking officer. Do not dare let your feelings for him get in the way of that!_

The thud of Kíli dropping his backpack on the stable floor makes him jump up out of his thoughts.

“Ready,” Kíli grins at him.

“You had better be quieter when we are on the road,” Thorin says in a low neutral tone, but he smiles to himself as he mounts his pony.

“Kun, Thorin,” Kíli rolls his eyes behind the flank of his pony and he too mounts his already saddled animal.

“Then let us go. We have a long ride ahead today and we need to make sure to set up camp before nightfall.”

The ground is hard and some early snowfall has already made the mountain paths treacherous so initially they keep a calm pace. As long as they reach the edge of the woods before dusk they will be fine and whilst the air is cold the sun is out and the day is pleasant enough for a hike out.

Both Durins are equally relieved that their time side by side in the saddle feels less awkward than either had anticipated. Kíli babbles away enthusiastically about his first weapon lessons and Thorin is just glad to listen to him sounding happy and relaxed. 

“The priests told me how well you handled the fire ritual,” Thorin comments when Kíli catches his breath for a moment.

Kíli gleams at the compliment. “It helped that you had warned me. Akhminruki astû, Thorin.”

“I did no such thing,” Thorin winks at him. “And how does it feel being a buck?'

Kíli laughs. “Not much different than before. Was it supposed to? Everyone did make me feel like something grand was supposed to happen the day I came of age. But I feel no different, I am afraid to report.”

Thorin smiles to himself and says quietly, “I guess that grand thing is still to come.” He regrets the statement as soon as he has said it. This is exactly the sort of territory he should be avoiding.

Kíli looks at him with a mixture of hope and apprehension. “Fíli did have the chat with me...” he tries carefully. _Yes, and therefore you know Thorin has to be the one to make the offer,_ he reminds himself regretfully. _You may not insult him like this!_

But Thorin stares straight ahead, just giving a brief nod in response before he spurs his pony on. He does not want to fall into this trap. “The road is a little softer here,” he changes the subject. “Let us pick up pace. If we are lucky we can shoot ourselves a decent meal before nightfall. I did bring some food in case we do not but would it not be nice to have a nice roast over the fire tonight?”

Kíli feels his heart drop a little when he realises Thorin is not about to take the unsubtle cue he had given him. “Kun, Thorin,” he says a little quietly before spurring on his steed.

***

It had been a good move to up their riding speed. By the time they reach the edge of the woods there is still plenty of daylight and Thorin agrees that as long as Kíli stays within audible distance so that he can call for help should he need to, he can go and hunt for food whilst Thorin sets up camp. And Kíli beams with pride that Thorin entrusts him with the task of providing their evening meal as he disappears beyond the treeline.

Thorin sweeps the small area he has selected for their camp with a large branch, before he digs a small fire pit and gathers wood from the surrounding area. He carries a decent size log towards their camp so that they have something better to sit on than the cold wet ground. And by the time he has finished the sky is starting to darken. He is just beginning to worry a little about having sent Kíli off on his own, when his nephew appears at the treeline with a wild turkey slung over his shoulder.

“There are deer further down the valley,” Kíli confirms. “And I picked up on boar prints. We should have a good day tomorrow. But this should do us for tonight.” He throws the big bird down in front of the firepit.

Thorin nods and smiles. “Well done,  _nudnê_. Now get plucking, whilst I get this fire going.”

An hour or so later they are sat together on the log by the glowing camp fire, the turkey gutted and speared and roasting over the fire. It is a little risky - the smell of the cooking bird could attract predators. But they are both heavily armed so it is worth the risk for the pleasure of having a decent meal.

They have lit their pipes and sit together in silence for a while, listening to the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the woods around them falling asleep, making way to the creatures of the night. And Kíli cannot help himself when he just has to throw Thorin another line since his uncle does not seem to make the first move of his own accord, as he is supposed to.

“Thorin,” he begins, “Fili talked to me about mahdulyusth.”

Thorin continues to stare into the fire. “Hm,” he grunts. “It is a great honour when a dwarf is granted mahdulyusthizd during their mortal life. But as you know most of us have to wait until we are called before Mahal. I would not worry about it, nudnê.”

“I am not worried, Thorin. I was just interested in the concept. Fíli could not tell me this though. Do you know how one knows when they have found their soulmate …?” He looks at Thorin expectantly. To confirm that which he already knows.

But Thorin’s answer does not satisfy. “We are told that we just know when we do,” Thorin answers quietly, drawing deeply on his pipe. “You would have to ask those fortunate enough to have found theirs. I am afraid I know no more than Fili.”

Kíli sighs but nods. “I see.” Then he shuffles a little closer to his uncle. “Thorin,  ...” he begins again. 

“Hm?” Thorin can feel himself tense as he feels Kíli's presence right beside him, his sleeve brushing against his.

“I have missed you.”

And Thorin freezes as Kíli rests his head on his shoulder. “What do you mean?” he coughs softly as he draws a little too deeply on his pipe. 

“You seemed so... distant lately. I am sorry if I've caused offence, irak’adad.”

Thorin sighs deeply. “You have not done anything to upset me, little Kee. I've been busy is all.”

“So … we're good?” Kíli asks, looking at him with his big brown eyes and Thorin turns a little towards him.

He smiles gently. “ _Kun_ , we're good. Now let us eat before this meat turns to charcoal.”

Kíli feels only a little relieved by that statement, but he resigns himself to the fact that they are just having this conversation as uncle and nephew. For now.

The fresh meat is lovely. It had been a long time since Thorin had been out in the woods like this and he was well aware that it was not something he could continue if he was ever crowned king. It was one of the few pleasures of their exile, to have just a little more freedom than his royal status would otherwise have allowed. Although Dwalin never approved of him travelling on his own without his protection, Thorin could look after himself. And it was time he taught Kíli the same. 

By the time they have finished their meal night has fallen over them like a blanket. They smoke another pipe to aid digestion as they quietly talk through their plan for tomorrow.

“Will you sing before we go to sleep?” Kíli asks when they make to retire to their bedrolls. He has always enjoyed listening to his uncle’s deep warm voice singing about the tales of old.

Thorin smiles. “Of course, nudnê _.”_ And he quietly but surely begins to sing about the splendour of Azsâlul'abad and the work they do to please to Mahal.

 

_In mountain halls_

_Filled with gold_

_The stone throne rises_

_Of kings of old_

_We honour Him_

_Gold rivers flowing_

_Our forges burn_

_The bellows blowing_

_For He is our father_

_And to Him we bow_

_Our home His temple_

_Loyalty we vow_

_And so we labour_

_Till the day He calls_

_To join our brethren_

_In the Waiting Halls_

 

Kíli has sunk against him, resting heavily against his shoulder as he listens to the song. When Thorin finishes the song the young prince is almost asleep already.

“Bedtime, thutraturê,” he whispers, gently pushing Kíli upright and placing a kiss on his hair.

“Mmm,” Kíli moans as he stumbles towards his bedroll. He is asleep as soon as he lays his head down.

Thorin remains seated just a little longer, watching over his precious nephew as the fire slowly dies down to a smoulder. And he silently prays to Mahal to give him strength and forgive him his feelings as his desire to crawl up behind Kíli and hold him in his arms as a lover rather than his nephew flames once more inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azsâlzudûn - Lone Lands (Eriador)  
> nadad - brother  
> kun - yes  
> Akhminruki astû - Thank you. Note that Kili here uses the respectful form to address Thorin as his elder and higher in rank as would be normal whilst they are just uncle and nephew at this point. Thorin on the other hand would refer to Kili as -zu rather than astû.  
> nudnê - my boy  
> mahdulyusth(izd) - (their) blessed mate  
> thutraturê - my tiny star


	6. Stone

“Kíli!” The scream escaping his lips wakes him up with a shudder and he jumps upright. Did he actually just scream his nephew’s name out loud? He had started to have these dreams recently. Some dreams were nice but in so many of them he thought that he had lost Kíli in some horrific attack or accident. And it feels like his heart has been ripped from his chest and forced back down his throat for him to choke on.

“Thorin?” Kíli rubs the sleep from his eyes. He had crawled right up to Thorin in the night and was lying against his back, now looking at him in confusion. “What did I do?”

Thorin sighs in relief at the sight of his sister-son safe and well beside him. He strokes through his hair. “Nothing, sweet boy. I was having a nightmare. My apologies for waking you.”

Kíli yawns and then gives Thorin a sleepy smile. “Dreaming about me?”

“Kun, about you getting into trouble. I wonder why that is,” Thorin smirks. It is enough of the truth and enough of a get-out clause to circumvent any further probing.

He shrugs the fur blanket off him and stretches his legs. The sun has just risen above the horizon and a chilly fog still hangs between the trees. The cold does not bother him much; Mahal had made them resilient against such things. But snow appears to hang in the air. Winter has arrived and they need to make sure that they bring back as much food as their ponies can carry – even if they have to walk back. If snow is due to fall this early they could face a harsh winter and with their numbers slowly growing they cannot risk a shortfall in their food supplies. They may even have to ride out again soon.

He gets up and rolls his bedroll back up. “Time to get up, little Kee. Hunters do not have a lie in.” Actually Kíli is not a long sleeper and it is usually him waking Thorin up. “I am going for a pee. Be ready when I come back. I want to make the most of the early morning when the deer are likely to gather on the open plain, before the sun rises too highly.”

“Aye, Thorin,” Kíli nods. He is excited about today. He loves hunting and he loves spending time with his uncle. And now that things seem to be alright between them again he is no longer worried about spending the rest of their trip together.

***

“You have done extremely well,” Thorin compliments Kíli warmly as they finish skinning the last of the deer. Thorin had shot a doe and a stag and Kíli had shot another doe and a young boar. They had rolled up and bound the skinned hides to sell to the leatherworkers in Khagal'abbad. Then Thorin had shown Kíli how to slice the meat into the various different cuts. They would not be able to carry three deer and a boar back whole so they had to prepare their kills there, cutting up and salting the useable meat before wrapping it in the boiled cloths they had brought with them. As they had hunted as far away from their camp as possible, they left the butchered carcasses on the plains for predators to find and returned to their camp with their hoard.

Kíli glows with pride. “Ma and Fili will be so pleased when they see what we have brought back.”

“I am sure they will be,” Thorin nods as he secures the saddle bags.

They will keep some cuts for themselves and their household and will sell the rest of the meat to the local meat vendors. Their economy is still fragile and Thorin is not here to make money of his people so he will ask a fair price. He does not need their gold here other than enough for his family to live off. His treasure still awaits him in his homeland and no matter what anyone accuses him and his kin of he has no greed to profit from his own suffering people.

He has got the fire going again and soon they are roasting some of the venison for them to enjoy tonight, whilst Kíli is wiping their blades clean. He gives his nephew the occasional sideways glance, trying to pretend to take an interest in Kíli’s cleaning whenever his gaze is returned with a cheeky smile.

Snow has started to fall now and Thorin stands up to grab the fur blanket that they had slept under, which he promptly throws over Kíli’s shoulders.

“What about you?” Kíli asks, cocking his head at him.

Thorin shrugs, “I am fine. I have my coat.” But Kíli is having none of that martyred behaviour and he pulls at the blanket so that it covers the both of them. “Thanks,” Thorin snorts with a smile. He really does not need the blanket but it is a sweet gesture and they huddle together watching their meal cook over the fire.

“Thorin?”

“Hm?” _Here come the questions_ , Thorin thinks. It has been a lifelong ritual between them. And it is comforting in a way that that much has not changed since Kíli’s coming of age.

But when he turns to face Kíli he is taken by complete surprise when Kíli leans himself forward with the grace and speed of a wildcat and presses his lips hard against his.

Thorin freezes on the spot for just the briefest of moments, wanting so much to lean into the warmth against his mouth. But he cannot allow this to happen! And he pulls away with any remnants of strength he can muster. “Kíli, no…!” he growls.

“I am sorry,” Kíli mutters, his cheeks flushing. “I know what Fíli said about courtship, but _you_ wouldn’t take the initiative …” he lets the words roll off his tongue in an effort to explain himself and not face Thorin’s wrath for breaking the rules.

But Thorin’s eyes grow wide in horror at that. “What?! No! _We_ cannot do this. Never! It’s not about who takes the initiative. I cannot court you!”

Kíli blinks in confusion. “Why not?” he asks. There is no emotion in his voice. No anger or hurt. Just a genuine innocent question.

Thorin realises just how secluded Kíli has been during his childhood. Even during his own protected childhood he and his siblings had lived amongst the courtiers of Azsâlul'abad. And they had learnt from those interactions about dwarven culture and proper behaviour. But there is no court in Khagal'abbad **.**  There are just Thorin and Dis and the brothers and their guards and servants. So how is Kíli to know that this is not appropriate behaviour if no-one has ever told him. And he guesses that Balin simply would not have thought to mention this little rule to Fíli, who in turn had not thought it relevant to tell Kíli. After all, who could have guessed that the thought would even have crossed the young prince’s mind.

He sighs deeply, feeling the sting of his own words. “Because, my sweet boy, I am your uncle.”

Kíli just shrugs his shoulders. “So?”

Thorin frowns at him. “Do not speak to me in such a way, Kíli.”

Kíli lowers his head. Thorin always got mad at him when he was using one word sentences. “Birashagammi, Thorin. But … I thought you liked me?”

Thorin takes a deep breath. “I do like you, Kíli. I like you very much. But because I am your uncle and you are my sister’s son it is not proper for us to court.”

Kíli just looks at him with incomprehension. He had expected Thorin to be mad at him for ignoring their custom and initiate their kiss when he was the lower ranking one. But this has thrown a whole new dimension in the mix that he had not expected at all. “But why not, Thorin?”

Why does Kíli always manage to ask those questions to which Thorin has no answer? “It is just not, Kíli. It is not acceptable in our culture. The priests…”

“But Mahal wants it to be so,” Kíli interrupts him.

Thorin stares at him with open mouth. And then anger flares in him. “Do not blaspheme!” He tries hard not to raise his voice, but he will not have Kíli utter such insults about their Great Maker.

But Kíli is completely calm. “I do not, Thorin. He has told me so Himself. He told me during the fire ritual. When I prayed to Him that I would not get burned. And I saw Him, standing on the other side of the fire fit. He beckoned me. He told me to trust Him and that I would not be harmed. And when I got to the other side He said to me that now I was of age I must fulfil my duty. As mahdulyasthûnzu _.”_

Thorin slaps him hard across the face before Kíli has hardy finished the word. “Be quiet, you insolent child!” he shouts as he jumps to his feet. He genuinely fears for Kíli’s eternal soul when he issues his punishment. Kíli can insult Thorin all he wants, but not Mahal. Not for his own sake. “Get on your knees now and beg Him for His forgiveness! NOW” he growls.

Kíli’s eyes grow black as he jumps up with equal vigour. “Lu’!” he snaps at Thorin. “Don’t believe me then. But I am telling you the truth and it is  _you_  who should be begging for forgiveness for questioning His word.” And with that he storms off.

Thorin is left staring after him, utterly dumbstruck. What in Mahal’s name is Kíli rambling on about?!

For a moment he remains frozen on the spot, confused and angry. But then his protective instinct for his sister-son kicks in over anything else and he races after him. “Kíli, wait!” he calls out. It is nightfall and these lands are dangerous. He can have Kíli storm off as much as he wants in the safety of their home, but not out here. “Come back!”

Kíli is not running, just stomps ahead through the undergrowth, his face set like thunder. And Thorin catches up quickly enough with him. He grabs him by the shoulder and turns him briskly around.

“What do you want, Thorin?!” Kíli growls. “I tell you the greatest of blessings has been placed on the both of us and you call me a liar?”

Thorin tries to catch his breath as he stares at Kíli. “It cannot be,” he breathes hard. “I have never heard…”

“Do you question His wisdom?”

“No! No, I … Kíli … How do I know you are telling the truth?”

Kíli frowns, anger blazing in his eyes. “You don’t!” he spits back. “You either trust me or you don’t. Your choice.”

They stare at each other, but Thorin is not battling for dominance with Kíli this time. He is simply trying to read the truth from his eyes. “Then why did you not say anything before? After the ritual?” he asks quietly, barely allowing himself to even consider the truth in Kíli’s words. “Why didn’t you tell me then what you told me just now?”

“I tried,” Kíli sighs in frustration. “I tried to talk to Fili about mahdulyasâth _._ And then to you. I wanted to be sure too. I wanted to hear that the others have had that same experience. That I wasn’t dreaming it. But neither of you knew!” he utters in exasperation.

“Then what made you change your mind?” Thorin looks at him with suspicion, but he has relaxed his iron grip on his nephew’s shoulders now. “Why now have you decided to tell me this? To … kiss me!”

“He told me that He would tell you in your dreams. That I would be your One.”

Thorin’s eyes grow large. Can this really be? Does he dare believe such a thing? If it is all a lie he will condemn the both of them. But if it is the truth then denying it will do the same. There is no-one who can tell him which is the right answer. Kíli is right, he has to choose whether to trust him. To trust his own heart. He had dreamt of Kíli every night for the past moon cycle. And in these dreams Kíli had always been his lover, he knows that all too well. He had put it down to his indecent imagination and sinful lust. But could Kíli be right? Had those dreams really been a message from Mahal?

Kíli watches the battle going on behind Thorin’s eyes with more patience than he has ever shown before. But when Thorin seems to have turned to stone, frozen to the spot without even blinking, he tentatively reaches out for his hand.

Thorin is awoken from his trance by the touch. “Kíli…” he whispers.

And there he makes decision. He may doom the both of them, but he wants to believe that Mahal makes no mistakes and that his heart is telling him the truth. And he needs this. He needs this more than he needs to breathe. He needs this more than he has ever needed anything else in his life.

Their second kiss is hot and deep as their mouths press hard together. He pulls Kíli in closer, wishing them to melt together. Kíli’s lips are soft; the bristles of his early beard prickling against him. He gently pushes his tongue against his mouth and Kíli moves his lips apart, allowing him in. His mouth is so warm and wet; his tongue sliding against Kíli’s as he feels an intense hunger banging against his ribcage. His one hand is clawing through Kíli’s hair, holding him in place as he explores his mouth whilst the other slides down his back until it rests on his buttocks. He can feel the arousal coil through him as he gently presses himself against Kíli.

All of a sudden Kíli wriggles his hands in between them and pushes Thorin back with force.

Thorin looks at him in shock. “Kíli… I… I am so sorry. I thought you wanted this?” he pants. Kíli looks at him with horror written across his face and Thorin feels like he has just stabbed his nephew in the heart. “Kíli, please I am sorry! I should not have…”  

Kíli glances down, his eyes growing large with panic. “What is happening to me?!” he all of a sudden cries out, falling to his knees.

“What?!” Thorin sinks down too, crawling towards his nephew, not caring that he is soiling his clothes with the slushy mud of the forest floor. “ _Nudnê_ , please tell me what is wrong?”

But Kíli recoils from him in horror. “Get away from me!”

Thorin abruptly withdraws his hand. “Kíli, amralê, please forgive me. I did not mean to upset you. I should never have kissed you like that.”

“I must have been wrong!” Kíli sobs now. “I pray forgiveness, oh Great Lord! Please do not turn me to stone!”

Thorin looks at his nephew with confusion and horror. “What are you talking about Kíli?!” he exclaims. Kíli is sobbing loudly now and no matter how hard he fights back, Thorin pulls him into his arms. “Kíli, sssh. You are not turning to stone. Calm, sweet boy. It is all okay. The sin is mine. You must not worry. You are not at fault.”

But Kíli vigorously shakes his head. “I am!” he almost screams now. “I kissed you and … Look!” And he points down to his crotch.

Thorin’s eyes grow large with comprehension. And his anxiety seeps away as he comes to realise the reason for Kíli’s panic. He tries not to laugh. Poor, innocent Kíli. “Oh, my sweet sweet love,” he soothes, “that is supposed to happen.”

Kíli looks up at him now, his face streaked with tears. “What?”

Thorin smiles at him and wipes the tears from his cheeks. “Little Kee, have you never got hard like that before? Did no-one tell you about that?” It has been well over a century since Thorin’s own coming of age and he cannot recall when that first happened for him. But bucks only started to first get erections around the time that they came of age, therefore it must have been around this time.

Kíli shakes his head in confusion.

Thorin swallows hard. How is he going to explain this? He pulls Kíli against him, stroking him through his hair. “Sweet boy, listen to me. You are not turning to stone. This is your body telling you that you enjoyed our kiss.”

Kíli frowns at him. “Why? Why would that happen?”

Thorin can feel himself blush. “Really, has Fíli never told you any of this? I thought he told you about courting?”

“He did. But he never said anything about this!” Kíli points at his crotch with disgust. “He said there were things he could not tell me. Is … is this it? He said it would be nice! It … it hurts!” Kíli sobs

Thorin sighs. True, it is supposed to be a secret. They are not supposed to talk about what happens when one sleeps with another dwarf until one has lost their purity. But that is just the official line that the priests uphold. In reality the dwarrow growing up in their communities always have some around them to explain it to them. Thorin had been told by Dwalin, who had come of age a year before him. So even though Thorin had never lain with another he did understand enough of his own body and what is supposed to happen when two dwarves lay together.

This is awkward. But it is sweet too. “Kíli,” he whispers softly, nervously taking his hand. “It happens because you are aroused. So that you can … mate.” He might as well call a hammer a hammer. It does not make things any less embarrassing trying to flower them up. “It should not hurt. You’re just confused.” He hesitates for a moment, but then gently pulls Kíli’s hand between his legs, shivering under the brush of sleek fingers. “See, it happened to me too.” He has softened a little from the shock of, but it is still quite evident what their kiss and this ongoing intimacy is doing to him.

Kíli stares at him with wide eyes as Thorin lets go of his hand. Of his own accord Kíli presses gently between his legs, making Thorin groan softly.

“Mate …? I don’t understand,” Kíli says, more confused than worried now. “Why does our kiss make it go hard?”

Thorin’s arousal is pulsing through him in great gulfs now as Kíli touches him there. He should stop this right now. He should not be the one telling Kíli any of this. He needs to find his own mate and learn about this the way it is supposed to happen.

 _But if he is your soulmate then neither of you are allowed to lie with anyone else_ , a voice sounds in the back of his head.  _It has to be you to teach him._

He decides on a compromise. There is no way he can go from accusing Kíli of cursing the both of them to lying with his nephew in the same night, no matter how much his body is screaming for it. There are things he needs to sort in his head first. “You will learn that when you lie with your mate,” he whispers, trying so very hard to restrain himself. “And if I truly am mahdulyasthûnzu then I will teach you. But you must give me some time to digest this, sweet little Kee.” He looks at Kíli expectantly. “Is that fair?”

Kíli nods. “Alright. But only if you kiss me like that again. That felt good.”

And with a smile Thorin pulls Kíli onto his lap as he seeks his mouth. And this time Kíli does not panic as he can feel his arousal grow between them. He just eagerly answers Thorin’s kiss as he presses hard up against him.

_Mahal, akhminruki astû!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> birashagammi - I regret (I am sorry)  
> mahdulyasthûnzu - your blessed husband  
> mahdulyasâth - soulmates (plural of mahdulyusth)  
> Lu'! - No!  
> nudnê - boy  
> amralê - my love  
> Mahal, akhminruki astû! - Mahal, thank you!


	7. Secret

When they finally return to camp their dinner is well and truly done for. “Cheese and bread it is tonight,” Thorin states. It is too late now to start cooking meat again. He just wants to still his main hunger – for food! - and then go to sleep. All the conflicting emotions have taken it out of him. Besides, sleeping is relatively safe. He is less likely to be overstepping the boundaries of any form of decency if he is unconscious. Already the regret of what he has done is boiling inside his stomach.  _You cannot be doing this with your nephew_! his mind keeps screaming at him.  _Mahal wants it so_ , the other voice bats the argument back _._

 _No_ ,  **I** _want it so…_

He removes the charcoaled piece of venison from above the fire and throws it deep into the darkness of the forest. As he does so and the cold cloth moves against his flexed thighs he realises how drenched their clothes are from them kneeling and then kissing on the wet snowy ground.

Thorin looks over at Kíli who stands shivering as his own wet clothes cling to him. The cold air itself might not get to them, but being in freezing wet clothes will make him ill for sure.  Normally Thorin would not have hesitated to order Kíli to take off his clothes and dry them before the fire. But things had moved on somewhat from what is considered  _normal_  in the last hour or so.

Still, they cannot sleep in their wet clothes like this. 

He considers which will come across less perverted - ordering Kíli to strip down or taking off his own breeches first? In the end he finds that neither will send the right signals after what he has done but he has to make a decision or they will be here all night shivering in their wet clothes. He tries to make it as casual as possible as he unbuckles his belts and pulled loose his laces. He removes his heavy boots before pulling his wet breeches down and laying them out to dry by the fire. His long coat and tunic protect his modesty well enough and his tunic is not that wet. He pulls his boots back on as he walks over to the bags to look for the food that he had brought, the chill in the air feeling odd against his bare legs and nether regions.

“Come Kíli,” he says, avoiding looking over at his nephew. “You need to dry your clothes or you'll get ill.”

He can sense Kíli is following his order as he does his best to focus on the bread that Dis had baked for them. As he turns round Kíli is very much in the same state of undress as himself, barely covered by his tunic, but at least out of his wet breeches. “Good lad,” Thorin swallows hard. He hands him some bread and cheese and then pulls out a flask of ale.

He takes a swig and passes the flask to Kíli as he sits down on the log and starts to eat.

“Kíli,” he begins as his nephew sits down next to him. “You must not speak about what happened to anyone when we get back. You must promise me that.”

“Not even Fíli?”

Thorin shakes his head. “Not even Fíli. Or Dís. I know what you are saying. About us being soulmates. I really want to believe that, my sweet Kee. But others may need a little more time to get used to that idea.” He is being kind. He knows that  _others_  will be completely repelled by the notion of their king wishing to bed his sister-son. And the two of them suggesting that Mahal has given His blessings for such an abomination could see them both branded and banished. If not worse … “Please promise me, my sweet prince,” he looks intensely at Kíli now.

Kíli nods. “I shall not, Thorin.” But he lowers his head a little as he slowly chews his bread. “Are you ashamed of me?” he whispers suddenly.

Thorin feels his heart shatter. “Lu’! Nê!” He puts his hand on Kíli’s leg without thinking or looking, only to remember when he feels bare flesh under his fingers and just as quickly he draws back his hand. None of this is going to plan. He was just supposed to take his nephew hunting; such a simply responsibility. To teach him a skill, a trade. And now he will be returning to Khagal'abbad in the knowledge that he has kissed with Kíli, his own kin! And that he had given him hope for more. Kíli is so young and innocent. He has no idea what they have gotten themselves in to. Thorin is his elder by so many years and he should have had the sanity of mind to stop this. And yet he had let Kíli sweep him off his feet and he had kissed him back, initiated the second kiss in fact. He has failed in his duty to protect Kíli. And even if Mahal will not strike them down, either the Council or Priesthood will for sure. “Kíli, you must trust me on this. Please leave me to think about what we do next before we say anything to anyone. But I am not ashamed of you.”  _I am ashamed of myself._

Kíli bends himself towards Thorin to steal another kiss, but Thorin pulls away from him.

“Let us just eat and then go to sleep.” Thorin tries to sound as warm and caring as he can muster, but he knows Kíli must feel rejected by him. It cannot be helped though. Better that than give Kíli any more false hope until he has worked out where they go from here.

Later, after they had retired to their bedrolls for the nights, Thorin is awoken by the touch of Kíli’s body rolling up against him. He considers pushing him back, but then he feels Kíli’s arm wrap itself around his waist as he snuggles up even closer. Thorin sighs deeply as he resigns himself to the feeling of Kíli’s warmth pressed up against his back. Again he can feel the desire pulls through his body as he feels Kíli’s heat against him. How he would love to turn around and take Kíli in his arms and make love to him. To for the first time in his long and lonely life feel what it is truly like to share such an intimacy with another. It takes every inch of his being not to do so. Instead he grabs Kíli’s hand and pulls it up against his chest, wrapped in his own large hand, as he slowly drifts off to a dreamless sleep.

***

They had set off early the next morning. Their ponies were heavily laden so they proceeded on foot, but their brisk walk meant that they arrived back at the gates of the mountain fortress of Khagal'abbad just after sun set. Their journey back had been mostly silent, apart from neutral conversations about the weather and selling their wares tomorrow. At every step of the way Thorin had wanted to lay his arm around Kíli and reassure him. Take away that tension that lay across his nephew’s face. He could sense his brooding; and he knew the poor lad must feel so confused. No less so than he himself is feeling. It is killing Thorin that he is the reason for it and yet can do nothing about it.

As they enter the stables, Thorin puts a hand on Kíli’s shoulder. “Remember your promise.”

Kíli nods solemnly.

Thorin wants to say more. He wants to tell Kíli that everything will be alright. But he does not know that it will be and he does not want to make any false promises. In the end the best he can do is ruffle his hand through Kíli’s hair before he carries the heavy saddle bags to the courtyard, leaving Kíli to unsaddle their ponies.

***

When he enters the temple it is very late and other than the few of priests that guard the temple the prayer hall is empty. The priests bow their heads slightly as their king enters and then leave him in front of Mahal’s altar. All falls silent around him.

He glances up at the grand stone statue of The Maker and sinks to his knees. 

 _“Shamukh Mahal Telkhel. Rum birakhajumsu e abhâr ra aznâg ni adramu a’râkhê._ _Rum zabudsu e ai-nailu du akrâg ina bâzzini. Fa rum dahura e bekhaz-zu ablâkul.”_

_Hail Mahal, Smith of all Smiths. May You grant me wisdom and courage in the hour of my need. May You lead me upon the path to honour whilst I wander. Or may Thy mighty hammer strike me._

Thorin recites the prayer in a soft, low tone. He crosses his arms, laying his hands flat against his chest as he bows his nose to the stone floor. Even the king of the dwarves bows down in the dust for the Great Smith himself, of that there is no question whatsoever.

He rests back down on his hunches as he stares up at the impressive statue, hewn out of the solid rock by his kinsmen.

“Mahal,” he whispers silently. “I seek Your guidance. Please forgive me if I have sinned. And if I have and You must punish me then please accept my life and spare Kíli Your wrath.” He takes a deep breath, afraid to continue. “But if I have been blind to Your honour and Kíli is truly mahdulyasthûnê … Please send me a sign.”

_Glóin_

The name forms in his head clear as a spark flying from the strike of a hammer against a blade.

Glóin? His treasurer? What possible thing can Glóin have to do with anything?

_Have faith_

Thorin shivers as the unspoken words seem to run down his spine like mice through the storage cellars. He bows himself flat against the stone again. 

_“Khamnelê yâ Zabadu ablâkul Dehar. Arzâm dê. Shamukh Akhrâmzu.”_

_My gratitude of all gratitudes, oh mighty Lord of the Anvil. I have faith. Hail Thy name._

***

“Thorin?” Glóin has never seen his king in this part of their mountain home. “C-come in,” he stammers.

“Thank you.” Thorin had wrecked his brain all night trying to work out what help Glóin could offer with his situation. Only when he had walked towards his friend’s dwelling had it come to him. Glóin was one of the few dwarrow who lived in the Married Quarters. It was believed he had earned his mahdulyasthûnawhen he had saved two dwarflings from drowning when they had fallen through the thin ice one winter, risking his own life in the process. That was one story. Others said it was his bravery in Azanulbizar, but Thorin could not tell that his honour had been more outstanding than any other. No-one ever really truly knew why Mahal choose to grand some dwarves their honour in their mortal life and not others. Or in fact how long it took from the heroic deed for the blessing to be granted. But then it was not for any mortal to question the wisdom of their Maker.

“What brings you to my door, zabadê? The stocktake is not due until…”

“I am here on private business,” Thorin interrupts him.

“Oh right. Well, then please take a seat. May I offer you a drink? Some tobacco perhaps?”

Thorin pulls his pipe from his pocket. “The latter would be nice.”

Glóin’s wife appears in the doorway, their son hiding behind her skirts. “Please, don’t rise up on my behalf,” she waves to Thorin. “What a lovely surprise, Zabadê. And what an honour.”

“Nonsense,” Thorin grumbles. He has known Glóin and his wife for most of their lives. No need for formalities or flattering. “The honour is mine. Shamukh, little Gimli,” he smiles at the shy dwarfling with his fiery red her, just like his father’s.

“Go and say hello,” Glóin pushes his lad forward, but just as quickly the child turns around and darts behind his mum again.

“Don’t worry,” Thorin waves his hand at Glóin who shrugs, a little embarrassed. “I am too tall for a dwarf, right?” he smiles at the bright eyes staring back at him from behind the safety of his mother’s protection and winks. The child giggles and hides again.

Glóin smiles at his leader’s playfulness with his son; it is nice to see Thorin relaxed and kind like that outside of the formal setting of his kingly duties. He takes a seat next to Thorin and offers him his tobacco pouch. “What brings you here, Thorin?” he repeats the question.

“I shall leave you two to it,” his wife curtsies to Thorin and her husband and she steers her son towards the door.

Thorin takes a deep breath. “I was wondering… Just out of curiosity… How did you learn that Gelda was mahdulyusthzu?”

Glóin looks closely at Thorin. That certainly was not the question he was expecting from his warlord.

“Er well … She was already carrying our babe then. She was about half way through carrying the child, but I still kept in contact with her. I just felt this really close connection. Like nothing I had ever felt for another. She was always on my mind, day and night. Then one day, when I was working in the forge, I saw her face in the glowing coal. And it was like this inner voice told me that she was to be my bride. It is hard to explain, Thorin.” He shrugs. “It was like Mahal was speaking to me, but I could not be sure. You know, when you think you hear something, but then you think it is your own thoughts?”

Thorin nods, understanding exactly what Glóin is telling him. “And she? Do you know how she was told?”

Glóin shakes his head. “We never talked about it. We just knew. This feeling that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together and never love another. That no other khuzd could ever mean as much to me. That is all I can say. My apologies, Thorin, I am no priest. I cannot really explain …”

“I understand.”

“I am really regretful to be of such little help to you, Thorin …”

“No not at all. It’s very … interesting.”

Glóin narrows his eyes at his king. “May I enquire … Why are you asking me this, Thorin? Have you …?” _found your divine bride?!_ He cannot ask his lord such a personal question and he hastily swallows it back down.

Thorin can feel the blush creep up his neck but smiles, before he quickly steers the conversation to business before leaving as soon as it is courteous to do so.

***

Balin had always been his most trusted advisor. He and his brother had been Thorin’s closest friends since they were dwarflings still, with not many years between the three of them. He has always valued Balin’s opinion on matters that keep him awake at night. And nothing is keeping him awake more than this particular issue. “Balin, I must speak with you,” he urges. “In private. Will you see me in my chambers later?”

When the knock on his door comes Thorin calls for the visitor to enter, expecting it to be Balin answering his call. But when he looks up he finds Kíli standing in the doorway instead.

His heart takes a little leap. “Kíli.”

His nephew carefully closes the door, but does not move forward.

“Come here, irakdashatê,” Thorin beckons him.

Kíli takes a few hesitant steps into the room, but keeps his distance as Thorin had asked him to. But to Thorin’s own surprise it hurts him physically to see Kíli behave like this, so out of character.  _Curse this! Why did this have to happen? Why can things not be like they have always been between us?!_ He takes a deep breath and walks up to Kíli, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“I went to the temple last night,” he begins. “And I saw Glóin in the Married Quarters this morning.” Another deep breath. “I … Kurudmizu …, mahdulyasthûnê.” And he bends himself forward and pulls Kíli into a kiss.

Kíli immediately answers with the hunger of a starving man, wrapping his arms so tight around Thorin as if he will fall down if he does not hold on with all his might. Thorin hesitates for the briefest of moments, keeping the kiss shallow, before he gives in to his desire and returns Kíli’s passion, dragging his large hands over Kíli’s back as he pulls him in closer, grinding their bodies together to sense each other’s heat.

They spring apart as the knock comes on the door.

“Balin …” Thorin utters, flustering as he rubs his hand over his mouth. He straightens his clothes a little and pushes a strand of hair behind Kíli’s ear. “Stay,” he whispers to Kíli as he walks back to his seat and calls out. “Come in.”

Balin smiles at the young prince who silently hovers by the door. As he walks up to Thorin he nods his head. “Zabadê, you summoned me.”

“I did. Thank you for coming.” Thorin searches a moment for the right words, his eyes flitting to Kíli. “Balin, I want you to know I have received the greatest blessing,” he begins, not really sure what to say. “Mahal has come to me and He has granted me my honour. Mahdulyusthê.”

Balin’s eyes grow wide and a broad smile paints across his face. “Mi targê, Thorin, that is wonderful! Congratulations, my friend. Who is the lucky lass?”

Thorin swallows hard and he beckons Kíli. “He is no lass.”

Balin whips his head around and stares at the young prince. Then his face turns ashen. “Lu’,” he briskly shakes his head. “Thorin, this cannot be.”

“But it is, Balin. Do you question the wisdom of Our Lord?”

At that Balin’s face clouds over. “Kíli, will you leave us a moment please,” he asks of the brunet prince, his mouth hard and tense in an uncharacteristic grimace. Thorin opens his mouth to protest, but the look on Balin’s face stills his tongue.

Kíli looks at him for guidance and Thorin nods. “Leave us, Kíli. I will come and find you later.”

“You will do no such thing,” Balin hisses to Thorin once the door has fallen shut. “Have you lost your mind, Thorin?! Kíli is your sister-son! Your blood!”

“I am well aware of that, Balin.”

“Then why? Why would you do this? This is not possible!”

“Amrali hû,” Thorin states firmly, feeling both pride and relief at telling one of his closest friends this after having kept this secret for so many days and nights since they had first shared that forbidden kiss.

Balin shakes his head again. “You cannot, Thorin! Even if you think you love him, you cannot pursue this relationship. No-one will accept it. Not even if it is you. Especially not you!” Then he freezes and looks at Thorin with suspicion. “Please tell me you have not been dishonourable. You have not done anything inappropriate, have you?”

Thorin sighs. “We’ve kissed.” He curses the blush in his cheeks.

“Mahal, Thorin!”

“What will you have me do, Balin?!” Thorin raises himself up as his voice gathers in volume. “Why do you think I brought you here? Do you think I feel comfortable, wanting to court my own blood? Don’t you think I feel disgusted with myself?! But I have been to the temple to ask for His guidance. I even went to see Glóin as my prayers guided me to do. And I swear to you, Balin, on the stone graves of my own brother and grandfather, that this is the truth. That I love Kíli and he loves me and that we belong together.”

Balin shakes his head sadly. “Even if that is so, no-one will ever believe you.”

“Then what do I do, Balin? Deny Mahal? Throw his blessing back at Him? Curse my eternal soul with such ungratefulness and insolence?!” Thorin throws his hands in the air in exasperation, looking hard at the shorter dwarf for an answer to his situation as he cannot see which way to turn.

Balin looks at his friend with an aching in his heart. He had had his suspicions for a while that there was something closer between Thorin and Kíli than their blood binding. It was the way that they looked at each other, the stolen glances, the lingering touches. For a second he had hoped that Thorin’s confirmation that he had found his One would have been the solution to what was starting to bother Balin more and more. Yet it was proving to be quite the opposite. “How long? How long have you known you felt this way about each other?”

Thorin shrugs and begins to pace. “I’m not sure. I started looking at Kíli differently since just before his coming of age. But I guess I have always known that there was a deeper connection between us. It was not until I took him hunting this week that we talked about it. And well …”

“I cannot give you any advice on this matter, Thorin,” Balin sighs at him. He feels a deep sadness for his friend. Thorin has been alone for so long and Balin wants nothing more than for him to be happy with someone. But not this. This … this can ruin them all. “All I can say is that I do not approve of it. And neither will others. I suggest that you forget any of this ever happened. That you give the lad a chance to find himself a proper mate to court.” He ignores Thorin’s scowl. “And _if_ you do decide not to heed my warning and pursue this,” he adds, knowing Thorin well enough, “then I suggest you do so in secret. And that you are more discreet than you have been to date. For his sake as much as yours. You are playing with fire, Thorin, and you know that as well as I do. Even without my advice.”

Thorin lowers his gaze. “Will you? Keep it a secret?”

Balin scowls at him.

“Please, nadadê …” Thorin pleads with him in a way that he hopes will remind his friend just how much his opinion means to him. The moment of relief and happiness at his revelation has swiftly passed as the hard truth is reflected in other dwarf’s hard gaze.

Balin grimaces.  _How dare Thorin ask such a thing of him?! Why did he have to involve him in this situation and curse his soul?_  “We never had this conversation,” he spits. And with that he turns on his heels and leaves Thorin’s chambers.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lu’! Nê! - No! Never!  
> Khagal'abbad - the Blue Mountains  
> mahdulyasthûnê - my blessed husband  
> mahdulyasthûna - blessed wife  
> zabadê - my lord  
> shamukh - hello  
> mahdulyusthzu /ê - your / my soulmate  
> khuzd - dwarf  
> irakdashatê - my nephew  
> Kurudmizu - I believe you. - Note that Thorin utters this as an unquestionable statement. As a fact.  
> Mi targê! - By my beard! - A common expression of pleasurable surprise.  
> Amrali hû - I love him / I am in love with him.  
> nadadê - my brother. Here used by Thorin to refer to Balin as a close friend, someone of the same clan and lineage.


	8. Giving In

Dinner that night is had in relative silence. It feels to Thorin that everyone seems to sense that something is going on. He wonders now since Balin thinks that they have not been discreet enough, even though they had never displayed their affection openly in public before, how much his sister and Fíli might know.

“This venison is lovely, Kíli,” Dís remarks. “You are becoming an excellent huntsman.”

“He is,” Thorin agrees. “He is very skilled with his bow. Before long I will have nothing left to teach him.” He can see Kíli smile proudly although he keeps his eyes firmly focused on his plate.

Thorin looks over to Fíli who is solemnly moving food towards his mouth. “How have your lessons been, Fíli?”

“Fine, uncle Thorin,” Fíli answers without looking up. That is not like his eldest nephew, sitting there hunched and not even looking at Thorin when he answers him. Normally he would scold him for his rudeness, but he senses something is amiss.

“Everything alright with you?” Thorin enquires, but Dís places a hand on his forearm, motioning him not to probe. Broken heart, she signs to Thorin. Ah, the devastation of youth when every other dwarf seems like the forever-one until the next comes along. And a sting penetrates through Thorin’s heart as he glances over to Kíli. Is that what this is for him? Just a crush? Will Kíli just as easily get over Thorin if he tells him to move on – as Balin had suggested? He tries to remind himself that Mahal would not play such games, but it is hard for his mind’s eye not to see the handsome young prince having his pick of suitors. And suddenly he sees Balin’s point very clearly. He feels sad for Kíli that Mahal had made him lagulyusthê. His nephew should have his pick of young lovers, pretty dams and strong bucks alike. Not to have his heart tight to an old dwarf like himself who can never openly love him. And he barely stifles a sob as he thinks about this, turning it into a cough as he shovels some more meat into his mouth.

After dinner, Thorin excuses himself quickly. Normally they smoke together and tell tales or sing in front of the fire. But tonight he needs to be alone, gather his thoughts.

However as soon as he reaches the corridor to his private chambers, there are rapid footsteps behind him and then a sharp tug on his sleeve.

He turns around. “Kíli!”

The name is smothered as Kíli seals his lips with his own.

Thorin panics. No, not here! They definitely cannot be seen snogging openly in the halls and the royal guard are sure to walk by soon on their nightly patrol. He grabs Kíli hard by the upper arms; harder than intended making his young lover flinch. But before he can utter a single word Thorin has scooped him into his arms and carried him into his chambers, away from prying eyes.

“Thorin…,” Kíli groans before his uncle pries his mouth open with his tongue. Further words are temporarily unavailable as the breath is stolen from him in Thorin’s hungry kisses. When they eventually pull apart they are both breathing hard.

“What … what did Balin say?” Kíli pants.

Thorin drags a thumb over Kíli’s swollen lips. He sighs, averting his eyes a moment as he recalls the conversation. “That we cannot be together. That he does not approve of … us.”

Kíli lets his head hang, but Thorin pushes his finger underneath his chin and makes him look at him.

“I’m so sorry, Kíli.” Thorin realises he has been apologising a lot to Kíli these last couple of days when sorry is not a word that normally passes his lips. “I know that we are not supposed to court another under Mahal’s blessing. But we may never be able to openly be together. You are so young still; you have your whole life ahead of you. I cannot expect of you to commit yourself to a relationship with me that is condemned from the start. If you want to turn your back on me now then I understand.” 

But Kíli frowns. “And if I don’t? If I don’t care what others say. If I want to be with you no matter what?”

Thorin stares deep into Kíli’s eyes. For his sake he wants him to denounce them. He is young and handsome. He can only pray that Mahal will be forgiving and that if he were to deny Kíli that he would indeed be allowed to court many dwarves if he so choses, even if Thorin were to condemn himself in the process. But in his own selfish interest Kíli’s reply is the answer to his prayers. “Then I will promise to love you forever.”

Kíli beams and throws his arms around Thorin’s neck again. “Please. I don’t want anyone else, I never have.”

Thorin feels his heart bloom at that declaration, but he knows none of this is going to be that easy. “We must court in secret. No-one must ever know.” He strokes along Kíli’s cheeks, the early stubbles of his growing beard feeling rough against the palm of his hand. “Do you realise what that means, Kíli? No-one, not even your ma or Fíli. To the outside world we must appear as uncle and nephew, as king and prince, as warlord and warrior. Our love will have to be hidden from view until the day we die. Our kisses can only ever be behind closed doors. Is that truly what you want Kíli?”

Kíli takes only a second to think about it. Of course it is not what he wants, but …“If it means I can be with you,” Kíli turns his face into Thorin’s palm, pressing his lips against the calloused skin, “I will do anything.”

This time their kiss is tender. Both are feeling the gravity of the commitment they have just made to one another. They have chosen to from now on live a double life. What is supposed to be the greatest blessing has turned into the greatest curse as they will have to hide their love forever in the shadows.

But whilst their minds are battling this realisation, their bodies have no such concerns in their desperate need for each other. And slowly their kiss becomes more urgent, more passionate.

“Does anyone know you are here?” Thorin moans softly against his lips.

“Fíli does. He thinks that you are helping me carve a bow though. He won’t disturb us.”

Thorin nods and he takes Kíli’s hand, silently leading them through the front room towards his private quarters at the back.

Kíli has never been in Thorin’s bedroom before and he can feel a flutter of excitement shoot through his lower belly as he takes in the large elaborately carved bed with the thick furs on top. The lanterns here throw a soft light around the room that dances with the hearth fire and makes the place feel peaceful and warm. He is not sure why Thorin has taken him here, but somehow it feels right, it feels like it is all he ever wanted. To be part of Thorin’s life in a way that no-one else is.

Thorin drags Kíli beside him onto the soft furs as he seeks his mouth again. And Kíli’s head is starting to swim as his uncle’s large hands begin to roam over his body, purposeful and sure, stroking along the dip of his neck, curling down his chest until his hand rests on his thigh, slowly stroking him and slowly moving inwards.

“Thorin,” Kíli breathes heavily, clawing his hands into Thorin’s thick curls. “It’s … it’s getting hard again. It keeps happening since we first kissed.”

“That is good, amralê. So is mine,” Thorin groans, grinding himself a little against Kíli’s leg, shuddering as desire throbs through him in a way it never has before.

“But… it hurts a little, Thorin,” Kíli whimpers. “Like it is really hard now and it hurts. Is … is that supposed to happen too?”

Thorin moves his hand between Kíli’s legs, feeling his erection through the fabric of his breeches. “It can do sometimes, little Kee. When you get really aroused. But we can do something about that. Do you want to take off your clothes? Do you … do you want us to be naked together?” he hiccups. “I would like that. I would like us to touch each other. If you want that too,” he rambles on like a juvenile. And he can no longer tell whether his blush is from embarrassment or arousal.

Kíli looks at him with his dark eyes, the pupils wide with lust. “Kun,” he whispers hoarsely. He feels nervous. He has seen his uncle bare-chested plenty of times. But never completely naked. And suddenly the thought of that makes him feel all these strange new feelings that he does not yet know how to interpret.

But Thorin does not hesitate. He stand up and starts to undress. His own cock is pulsing between his legs as he thinks about feeling Kíli’s bare flesh against his own and the pulling lose his laces offers a welcome relief from the strain. Despite Kíli’s nerves he follows his lead with surprisingly surety and within moments they are both undressed.

Kíli admires his king with wide dark eyes. He finds his tongue flicking out past his lips, which feel a little dry suddenly. His eyes dance over his uncle’s muscular torso, following the trail of black hair down to where his proud weapon rises strongly from between his firm thighs. “Astu abnâmul …” he shivers.

Thorin seats himself back on the bed and drags Kíli close to him, shuddering as their skin brushes. “Can I touch you?” he whispers with a slight tremble in his deep voice. “Can I touch your cock?”

“Kun!” Kíli whispers back, his eyes wide and dark. “Oh…” his head snaps back as Thorin takes his prick, enveloping his girth with his warm large hand.

“Relax, my prince,” Thorin whispers and he licks his tongue along Kíli’s necks. “Trust me. Does this feel nice?”

“It does,” Kíli groans as Thorin’s hand slides up and down his cock in a gentle but sure rhythm. “Is this … sex?”

Thorin ceases his kisses and cups Kíli’s face in his other hand as he continues to pleasure Kíli’s prick. “Sort of,” he smiles. “It is something you can do yourself though. You do not need a mate for this. If you are hard and alone you can touch yourself like this.”

Kíli’s eyes grow wide. “D-do you…?”

“Kun,” Thorin hides his bashfulness by pressing a deep kiss against Kíli’s lips. “I do. I have been, whilst thinking of you.”

Kíli whimpers loudly at that admission. “C-can I touch you too?”

A deep moan involuntarily escapes Thorin’s lips. “Please, Kíli, I would like that very much.”

Kíli tentatively takes Thorin’s prick in his fist. “Can you show me how?”

Thorin lets go of Kíli’s cock and folds his hand around Kíli’s nimble fingers wrapped around his own length. “Like this,” he demonstrates and he moves Kíli’s hand up and down along his his shaft. “Firm but not too hard.” Kíli nods and Thorin leans himself back as he lets Kíli play with him. “Lâsh kun, Kee, just like that,” he groans softly, his eyes rolling back in his head as he gives in to the pleasure. “That feels so good.”

Kíli marvels at the feeling of Thorin’s cock in his hand. His prick is thick and heavy, the shaft rock hard and yet the tip remains soft under his fingers. As he runs his hand all the way up his length Thorin shudders under his touch. When he suddenly feels a warm liquid coating his palm Kíli pulls his hand away unsurely.

“Please don’t stop,” Thorin groans.

“But… You’re leaking.”

Thorin’s eyes spring open and he laughs at the shocked look on Kíli’s face. He rubs his thumb over his slit. “I am,” he smiles. “That must mean you make me feel really good, Kee.”

Kíli frowns at him. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Come here,” and Thorin drags Kíli on top of him, pressing his tongue deep into his mouth, enjoying the wet heat that Kíli offers him. His hand runs over Kíli’s thigh drawing him against him. “I want to make you come,” he whispers into Kíli’s mouth.

“Come where?” Kíli blinks at him.

“Oh sweet little thing that you are. Come means that I make you feel so good that seed spills from your cock.”

Kíli cocks his head. “What do you mean? What seed?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“I guess …” Kíli says, a little unsure.

Thorin grabs at his own cock and starts to fist himself in rapid motion, whilst tonguing Kíli deeply at the same time. He can feel Kíli’s erection press hard against him, helping him along. Masturbating is not new to him. Masturbating in the presence of another, of his lover, however, is. And it is both exhilarating and nerve-wrecking to give himself over like that.

His breath is quickly becoming irregular. He has wanted to be this intimate with Kíli for so long that it won’t take a lot to push him past the point of no return.

“Kíli, your hand please,” he groans and he grabs Kíli's hand in his own again, making him rub at his cock in his chosen rhythm, this time not letting go of him. “Don’t freak out,” he pants as he can feel his orgasm bubble up inside him. “Just … trust me.” His balls are tightening as the pressure builds in him, his thighs trembling as he pulls the muscles tight. “Oh Kíli!” he moans loudly as his orgasm shoots through his prick. He can feel Kíli tense as his hot semen squirts from his tip, but he holds fast onto his hand as he jerks himself through his climax, his eyes squeezed shut as he lets his orgasm wash over him. Only when he is totally spent does he release his iron grip.

As he opens his eyes again Kíli is staring at him in awe with his huge brown eyes. Thorin grins. “That felt good, Kee,” he sighs contently. “Very good.”

“It’s messy.” Kíli examines his hand, covered in Thorin’s pearly cum.

Thorin chuckles. “It is.” He pulls Kíli into his arms. “But worth it.” And his hand finds Kíli’s cock again. “You want to come too?” he whispers hotly as he starts to massage Kíli’s length.

“Will it be messy like that?”

“Definitely,” Thorin grins. “The messier the better. Just relax, sweet boy. Let go completely. Close your eyes. Just feel my hand on your cock. Don’t be afraid.”

Kíli’s eyes slide shut as his mouth falls open. And as Thorin increases the speed with which he jerks Kíli off a deep moan escapes his nephew’s lips. “Sorry,” Kíli whispers apologetically, but Thorin steals the word in a kiss.

“Not sorry. Groan for me. Scream if you want. Let me hear how good it feels that I touch you like this.”

Kíli is melting into his arms now, bucking his hips up into his fist as he moans against Thorin’s neck. “Ngh. Oooh…” He can sense how close his nephew is, but he is holding back, afraid to relinquish to that all-encompassing ecstasy.

“Good, Kíli. Let go. Give in to that feeling. Just let it wash over you.”

Kíli claws at him as the orgasm takes hold of him. His moans are deep and guttural as he presses his face hard into the hollow of Thorin’s neck and shoulder. His nails are digging into Thorin’s chest as flecks of his seed coat the both of them.

When his movements become jerky, Thorin releases the pressure on his cock and then rubs his wet hand gently over Kíli’s sack, drawing a shuddering hiss from his prince.

A deep content sigh tells Thorin that Kíli is done for and he turns himself on his side to face his young lover. “Well?” he smiles.

“That was … amazing,” Kíli sighs, blinking hard. “Can we do that again?”

Thorin laughs his deep rumbling laugh. “Not right now. You need to give your body a little time to restore itself. But soon.”

Kíli snuggles up against him. “Akhminruki astû, Thorin.”

“Akhminrukizu ya, galathûnê.”

“So is this what Fíli was not allowed to talk to me about? This is what happens when you court?”

Thorin kisses his forehead. “Not quite,” he smiles.

Kíli looks up into Thorin’s eyes again, his eyes still dark with lust and yet so full of trust. “No?”

“What we have just done, Kíli, bucks normally do that when they do not have a mate. But there are other things you can do when your cock gets hard.”

“Oh. Will you teach me that too, uncle?” If it is anything like what they have just done he is sure keen to learn more about it and he is beginning to understand his brother’s words now when he had told him that courtship was definitely worth it.

Thorin blushes deeply in his embarrassment. “Ehm… I cannot really teach you, Kíli.”

Kíli feels the stab in his chest. “Oh. Because we are not allowed to?”

“Well … yes. But also …” Thorin sighs deeply. “I cannot teach you because I don’t know myself. I have never lain with another dwarf,” he says quietly, unable to look at Kíli.

Kíli looks at his uncle incomprehensibly. “But Fíli says he has done it.”

Thorin nods. “Then I guess he has. It’s not … normal for a dwarf my age not to have done so. But I have been distracted with other matters, Kíli. Finding us a home. Looking after you and Fíli. Preparing for our return to Azsâlul'abad.” He kisses Kíli softly. “Does that bother you?”

Kíli shakes his head and then smiles broadly. “We can learn, together, right?”

Thorin feels relief at those words and smiles back. “Kun, sweet Kee, that we can. And I look forward to it.”

They kiss softly for a little longer before they have to get dressed and Kíli has to return to his own room. Thorin carefully checks him over, ensuring he is wiped down with a wet cloth and that his hair is combed through and tied back in his silver clasp. This is how things will have to be from now on. Making secret love before they have to run off to their own quarters again. But Thorin pushes the frustration of it away, not wanting it to taint the perfect moment that they had shared

Finally Thorin lets Kíli go with a heavy heart. “Sleep well, my sweet boy,” he whispers.

Kíli gives him one last kiss, resting his forehead against his for a moment. “Miss you already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amralê - my love  
> (Lâsh) kun! - (Oh) Yes!  
> Astu abnâmul - you are beautiful (polite form)  
> Akhminruki astû, Thorin - Thank you, Thorin (polite form)  
> Akhminrukizu ya, galathûnê - Thank you too (familiar form), my delight (person form, lit. delight-man)


	9. Dwalin

His brother had been acting weird ever since he had been summoned to Thorin’s private chambers a few weeks back. Dwalin was not a nosy kind of dwarf, so he had kept his mouth shut. But as the mood did not improve, he could not help but wonder what Thorin could possibly have said to Balin that had ruffled his feathers so. Balin got exasperated with Thorin’s stubbornness often enough; he was after all his advisor and Thorin was not an easy individual to advise on anything, headstrong as he was. But the both of them cared a great deal for their king and friend. They had grown up together and the three of them had all suffered the losses of dear ones when they had fought side by side in battles past. They were close as brothers. And Dwalin had never seen Balin spitting with anger at Thorin for so long as he was doing currently.

Eventually he had tried to ask Balin about the conversation that had taken place between the two of them. But his normally placid older brother had nearly bitten his fingers off. “Mind your own business, brother!” Balin had growled at him. “Or go and ask Thorin to explain his business to you. But don’t ask me to repeat what he told me!” Dwalin had raised an eyebrow at his foot-shorter brother scowling at him, his cheeks glowing red with anger. And he had decided to leave the matter be until an opportunity presented itself to speak with Thorin privately.

That opportunity came a few days later.

“Dwalin, you are escorting me across Khagal’ân to the southern settlements.” As their community had grown, a small faction had split from the main settlement in the northern mountain ranges of Khagal’abbad and moved to the mountains south of FarakfundsilfÎn. They still answered to Thorin, but they had some of their own customs and laws. “We are riding out first thing tomorrow. It will be eight of us travelling in total including Fíli, so make sure we have a strong escort. We will have to cross at the havens, but we will camp under the stars. I am not begging for a bed with the elves.”

“We don’t have to beg, we could just pay for a room at the inn,” Dwalin tries to humour his friend, but the scowl on Thorin’s face told him he was in no such mood. He shrugs his shoulders. “As you wish, zabadê, I will make the necessary arrangements.”

***

Thorin was anxious for so many reasons. This was Fíli’s first trip across the river and he felt a huge burden of responsibility for the safety of his young heir. Secondly he hated travelling through the elvish harbours, but crossing the river further north would mean at least another day travel and he could not justify such a delay for the sake of his pride and hostility towards the elvenkind.

But more than anything he fretted over leaving Kíli behind and not being able to see him for a fortnight at best.

The two of them had been on their best behaviour, making sure to appear to the outside world as they had agreed. During their evening meals he was Kíli’s uncle, during the day he was his elder and commander. Nothing more. But underneath their façade their growing desire for each other raged liked a spring river swollen from the melting mounting snow.

There had been no more opportunity to be together. Occasionally they had managed to steal a kiss, but those had been fleeting as the risk to get caught had been too great. At some point Kíli would be able to visit him in his chambers again, but he could not frequent Thorin’s private chambers too often without raising suspicion.

And now they were going to be separated for a good couple of weeks as Thorin had to visit his people south of the river, enforcing his rule and exchanging trade. He could not come up with any valid reason to bring Kíli on such a journey, though his lover had pleaded with him. He could have made up some excuse like he wanted to give Kíli more exposure to the wider dwarvish community. But truth be told Thorin wanted Kíli to remain within the safety of Fahamkhagal’abbad, with Dis and Balin to look after him. He could not bear the thought of anything happening to Kíli. The journey should be relatively safe but nonetheless the roads were becoming more treacherous these days. Best he stayed where he was so Thorin could be sure of his safety.

They had exchanged one last brief kiss the night before Thorin’s departure when he had gone to the brothers’ bedchamber to give Fíli some final instructions and they had nearly been caught by the blond, reminding the both of them what a dangerous game they were playing.

And now he is riding away from his young love and already he wants to turn around and run back to him. And his own childish behaviour, acting like a lovelorn dwarfling as he was, is turning his mood very sour. The only thing cheering him up is seeing Fíli’s excitement at being asked to join Thorin on this journey, feeling all grown up and important. And Thorin focuses his attention on teaching his heir about the southern faction. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

***

Thorin had been a sombre dwarf ever since their exile from Azsâlul'abad and Dwalin could forgive him for that after the losses they had all suffered. He could be moody at times and again that was a trait that Dwalin could accept, being of short-temper himself. Dwarves wore their hearts on their sleeve and none more so than those of the line of Durin. But on this journey Thorin has thunder written across his forehead. Even Fíli’s excited chatter breaks through those storm clouds only every so often. And by the end of the third day, when they are about to enter the elvish harbour town, he has had enough of the king’s silent brooding.

“Thorin,” he nudges his friend who is crouched by the fire. “A word please.”

Thorin frowns at him, glancing over at their companions. “Speak freely,” he mumbles.

“I don’t think so,” Dwalin crosses his arms and stands back up.

Thorin glances up at him and throws down his half eaten bread in a huff. “Glóin, look after Fíli. We shall be right back.” He walks with big strides ahead of Dwalin, away from the camp, not glancing back but knowing that his friend is following him. When they are a good distance away from the others and can neither be heard nor seen he turns around. “What is so secret that you could not tell me back there?”

Dwalin raises an eyebrow at his friend. “You tell me, Thorin.”

Instantly the mask of haughtiness drops from Thorin’s face. “Balin spoke to you.” He does not dare look at Dwalin, afraid to see the disgust in his friend’s face.

“He did not. I asked, but he told me to speak to you myself. What is going on, Thorin?”

Thorin takes a deep breath and turns away, staring back at the silhouette of the mountains of Fahamkhagal’abbad against the moonlit sky. “I cannot say, Dwalin. I should not have said anything to Balin either.”

Dwalin places a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “You know you can trust me, Thorin. Whatever it is. If something is bothering you, then I need to know. I am your guard, Thorin. And your friend.”

Thorin glances back at him. He trusts Dwalin more than anyone. And he is his closest friend. But he cannot risk to ruin this friendship as he had clearly done with Balin, who refuses to speak to him now in anything other than a purely professional sense. He knows Balin holds no ill feelings towards Kíli. But he holds Thorin solely responsible for the situation he has put him in. And he sadly shakes his head. “This I cannot share, Dwalin. This is my burden to bear. Alone.”

“Mind if I take a punt?”

Thorin snorts.

“You don’t have to say anything. But has it something to do with Kíli?”

Thorin freezes and he forgets to breath. Have they really been that obvious? Have they not been discreet enough?

By the time he catches his breath and turns around Dwalin has walked back to the camp. Thorin swallows hard.  _Something to do with Kíli_. That could mean anything. How much does Dwalin know? Should he talk to him? Would he understand?

***

Dwalin keeps a close eye on Thorin the next day but they are too occupied with trying to negotiate their way across the river to pursue their conversation. Thorin seems to have lightened up a little, although he wisely leaves the discussion with the elf-folk to his translator, whilst the three of them hover in the background. Fíli looks unsure. He is clearly intrigued by the tall elves, having never met any before. But the scowl across his uncle’s face and the obvious disdain that both Thorin and Dwalin have for them - a suspicious hatred that has been instilled in him from a very young age - will have prejudiced him and he stays close to his uncle’s side.

By the time the whole company has crossed the river and arrive in the southern part of the harbour the sky is already starting to darken, but Thorin is stubbornly refusing to settle in the elvish harbour town for the night. Until Dwalin pulls him aside.

“Look, Thorin, you know I dislike these elf-folk as much as you do. But I wouldn’t mind a bed to sleep in tonight since we have the chance. We have at least three more days travelling ahead of us before we get to the southern settlement. The ponies are tired. Fíli looks exhausted; he is not used to travelling. Just think about it for a moment.”

Thorin sighs as he looks over at his young nephew. His friend is right. They would refresh the ponies but the elvish horses are massive beasts and although he and Dwalin could perhaps manage to ride them, some of their shorter and less well travelled companions would not be able to. And if even Dwalin is asking them to stop in the elvish town then perhaps he should relent. “Fine. Get Nerin to book us in at the inn,” he orders briskly.

***

The company is overjoyed that they get to spend the evening in the tavern and it does not take long for the wine to flow merrily. The elf-folk here are a little rougher than the wood-elves that Thorin knows, being seafarers and merchants. But still they are surprised by this company of dwarves rowdily taking over their watering hole.

Thorin looks over to Fíli who has joined the main company at the centre of the room, seemingly delighted to be counted as part of the grownups now. Thorin thinks the lad will suffer in the morrow if he keeps up his drinking pace like that. But that too is part of growing up and as long as he is still able to travel he will learn for himself the consequences of his behaviour and that travelling on horseback with an ale-filled head is less than comfortable.

Dwalin seats himself next to Thorin in the corner of the room, away from the others, and shoves a fresh jug of wine in his direction. “Damned binutrâg!” he mumbles. “Not a decent drop of ale in sight.”

Thorin smiles as he tops up his glass with the ruby red liquid. The room is filled with noise and their conversation can be kept private if they keep their voices down. “You ehm …” he begins, “... you asked if my worries have something to do with Kíli the other night. What did you mean?”

Dwalin takes a deep tug from his wine, grimacing at the sour taste. “Well,” he wipes his sleeve across his beard, “Kíli is of age now. I know how protective y’re of him.” Thorin can feel his heart beating faster in his chest. “I guess you are a little anxious about him starting to court.”

The crown prince’s palms are sweaty now, but he tries to show no reaction.

Dwalin chuckles, “You have always acted like a dam around those boys.” He looks over carefully at Thorin gauging whether the remark will earn him a slap or not. But Thorin does not seem to care, staring purposefully at the table. “So I guessed that you probably would want to veto whoever they chose to court. Especially Kíli.”

Thorin snorts. So Dwalin has no idea then.

“Well?” Dwalin asks. “Was I that off the mark? From what the boys have been saying during their weapon practice Fíli was quick to demonstrate his worthiness as a buck. But Kíli has been … ehm …” talking to Thorin about his royal nephews losing their innocence is a little awkward, “... a little slower on the uptake shall we say. As far as I know he hasn’t yet… you know, gone out to court anyone. So I thought you are either fretting because he is not courting yet. Or because he is trying to court someone you don’t approve of.”

Thorin’s brow knits together. “He won’t,” he says so quietly that it is almost a whisper and Dwalin is not even sure he has heard him correctly.

“’Scuse me? He knows that he has to be the one to take the initiative, does he not? Because of his rank.”

“He does. Unless the one he wishes to court is of a higher standing than him.”

Dwalin frowns, not understanding. “No-one is of a higher standing than him. Except …” He almost drops his glass as comprehension dawns on him. He looks at Thorin, who is avoiding his gaze. “You?!” Thorin yanks hard at his sleeve, hissing at him to keep his voice down. “Sorry. Is-is that what y’re implying, Thorin?”

Thorin does not answer. He cannot tell him. It is so wrong!

Dwalin might not be as bright as his older brother, but neither is he dim. “Mi targê, Thorin,” he whispers in a very low voice, bending himself a little closer to his friend, “you have taken a shine to him.” Thorin can feel the blush creep into his cheeks as he stares hard at the contents of his goblet. “Does he… does he feel the same?” When Thorin nods slightly Dwalin sinks himself back against the back of the wooden bench, drawing his large tattooed fingers across his face. “Blimey, Thorin. No wonder my brother’s got his breeches in a twist with you.”

“Indeed. And you?” Thorin carefully glances up at his friend, waiting for the rejection that is sure to come.

By Dwalin shrugs his shoulders. “It’s … unusual. He’s yer nephew… But if you both feel that way ...”

Thorin raises an eyebrow.

“Look, Thorin,” Dwalin bends himself forward again now as he lowers his voice. “I just want ya to be happy. And Kíli is a lovely lad. A little untamed sometimes. But I am sure that has its advantages,” he smirks.

Thorin laughs softly. “If your brother could hear you speak like that, he would disown you.”

Dwalin gruffs, “Balin has always been one to keep to the letter of the law. Is that his issue?”

“Sort of.” Thorin glances over at the others, to make sure that definitely no-one is trying to listen in. In particular Fíli. But they are far too busy laughing and singing now. “Here is the thing. We don’t just wish to court each other. By Mahal’s blessing he is  _mahdulyusth_ _ê_.”

Dwalin actually knocks over his wine this time, grappling for the goblet as he wipes the spilled liquid onto the floor. “That is not possible!”

“That was Balin’s opinion too. But I do not think any of us are ordained to question the word of our Maker.”

“Have you fucked him yet?”

Thorin coughs a big cloud of smoke from his pipe at the crudeness of the question. “Dwalin!” he hisses. But his brother-in-arms just raises a questioning look. “Lu’,” Thorin sighs as his blush deepens. “We’ve done… other things. But not that. Not yet.”

Dwalin grins widely. “Yet? Bless my beard, finally Thorin Oakenshield is going to get some!”

Thorin pokes him hard in the side with his elbow. “Be quiet!” But then he smirks back. “Maybe... But not if Balin can help it. He made it quite clear he does not approve and that he thinks I should forget about him.”

“My brother is trying to look out for ya is all. But it is not his call who you wish to bed. Especially if you believe this is a blessing from Mahal.”

“You believe me?” Thorin asks hopefully.

The strong dwarf shrugs. “I think you deserve His blessing more than any of us.”

Thorin smiles softly at this. “So you think I should pursue this?”

Dwalin slaps Thorin across the back. “Are you asking me for permission?” He watches Thorin flush a little. “Not really for me to say is it, Thorin. I just think you should follow your heart. As long as you both want the same thing…” He glances over to the others. “Does Fíli know?”

Thorin shakes his head. “No-one knows but Balin and now you.”

“He will find out, you know. Them two, they’re close as anything.”

“I know.”

“You probably should tell him rather than him finding out some other way.”

“And what if he rejects it? What if he feels the same as Balin does? That it is not acceptable? That it is despicable? I do not want there to be any bad blood between them.” Dwalin just looks at him and in the end he shrugs. “I will have to think about it.” He knows his friend is right. There would be nothing worse than Fíli finding out by accident. He had already nearly caught them kissing. “Promise me you will keep this between us?”

In response Dwalin lays his index and middle finger across his heart, before he leaves Thorin to ponder by himself as he joins the others for a more light-hearted conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khagal’ân - Blue River (the Lhûn)  
> Khagal’abbad - Blue Mountains (Ered Luin)  
> FarakfundsilfÎn - South Haven (Harlond)  
> zabadê - my lord  
> Fahamkhagal’abbad - the Northern Blue Mountains  
> c- beardless ones (insult used for elves)  
> Mi targê - By my beard! (exclamation of surprise)  
> mahdulyusthê - my soulmate (my blessed mate)  
> lu' = no


	10. The Godord

Kíli is pacing; climbing the stone walls of their mountain home in both anxiety and frustration. It has been well over a week since Thorin, his brother and their company had left for the southern mountains. Kíli had pleaded with Thorin to be allowed to come on this trip, but his uncle had been immovable, telling him there was no reason for him to come along. Thorin had tried to soothe his anger and frustration at this decision, telling him that his role was to stay and look after Dis. But Kíli knew that that was nonsense. His mother needed no looking after. Like all dams she was perfectly capable of looking after herself and she certainly did not need her reckless son to care for her. Yet there was no point arguing further with Thorin. They could battle as equals on a personal level, but as his commander Thorin’s word was final. And Kíli had promised to obey him as was required of him as his serving officer.

He misses his brother terribly. Fíli had never been away from him for more than a day let alone for weeks and Kíli feels as if one of his limbs has been amputated, lost and exposed without having his big brother at his side.  He realises now how much Fíli is always there to guide him and to help him out of the little holes he keeps digging for himself. But now that he is all on his own all of a sudden there seems to be this expectation for him to act a whole lot more grown up and responsible than he has been used to so far. Maybe, however, that is because he _is_ a grown up dwarf now and should really start acting as the third in line to zebdar’egam.

More than anything though he misses Thorin. Even before their first kiss Thorin had been on his mind night and day. But since that night out in the woods, when they had given in to their feelings for each other, there has been no space for anything else than his love for his uncle. His promise to Thorin to keep their mutual amorism a secret – especially from Fíli - has been torturous.  When Fíli had nearly walked in on them on the morning of their last kiss Kíli had almost been relieved, hoping that his brother had noticed and that their secret was out. But his brother had seemingly been oblivious, completely unaware of the tell-tale signs presented to him – Thorin and Kíli standing a little too close to each other, their cheeks a little flushed and their lips a little swollen. But perhaps if one did not know then one did not see what was right in front of them.

All he has to keep him going is the memory of that first night that he had been truly intimate with Thorin and what his lover had shown him. At first he had felt confused and even a little scared. He was so unfamiliar with the changes in his slowly maturing body. But Thorin had taken good care of him and the pleasures that he had taught him … _Yâ_ _Mahal!_ At least that was one good thing, with his brother being on the road as well, as he has had the privacy to experiment a little with those new discoveries. And he has found himself high in the clouds every night since he last felt Thorin’s lips on his.

But even so, after over a week of having to make do with fantasy and his own hand he is yearning for his uncle’s touch again. To feel himself wrapped in those strong arms and learn more about what other delights they can experience together.

“Kíli!” Balin scowls at him for the third time during his lesson.

Kíli jumps up from his daydream and spills a drop of ink across his parchment. “ _Iklifumun!”_ He clasps his hand in front of his mouth at the curse and squeals as Balin’s cane lands on the wooden table with a loud crack, just millimetres from his other hand.

“Hold your insolent tongue!” his elder growls as him.

“ _Birashagammi_ _,_ ” Kíli whispers, his head hung.

Balin sighs. Kíli is even harder to handle now that Fíli is not with him. He knows the lad has a short attention span at the best of times. It is not that he doesn’t want to learn for Kili is in fact quite an eager student when it comes to subjects that he is passionate about. It is just engaging him in some of the tasks that the prince perhaps considers less of his immediate concern – mainly those around politics and decorum - that is the challenge. At least when Fíli is around he has an extra pair of hands to keep him focused on his lessons. Now that he has Kíli on his own it really seems like every word goes in one ear and straight out the other. It has already taken them three times as long to get through this particular piece of work and now Kíli has spoilt what he has done so far.

Balin hands him a cloth and a clean piece of parchment. “From the top,” he says, trying not to get too frustrated with the young prince.

“Balin?” Kíli all of a sudden looks straight up at him. “Can I ask you something?”

His teacher blinks in surprise. “Kun, of course, my lad. What is it?”

“Why are Thorin and I not allowed to court each other?”

Balin flushes a bright red. His head snaps around the room, terrified as he is that someone might have heard Kíli’s brazen question even if he knows full well that there is no-one else with them. At first he feels angry that Kíli chooses to risk the both of them like that. But then he sighs, realising that it is just an honest question from an innocent young dwarf who has lived too secluded a life. And this is a good opportunity to reinforce again why he disapproves of what the lad and Thorin are doing and what the repercussions could be for all of them if they do not heed his warnings.

He takes a seat next to the young prince and answers in a very low voice, still afraid the walls might have ears, so low in fact that Kíli has to bend himself forward to hear to older dwarf. “Kíli, my lad, he is your uncle. Your mother’s brother. Our laws forbid a relationship between such close relatives.”

“But why?”

It is a good question. If Balin is honest with himself he does not know why. It is just the way things have always been. “There is not always a why, Kíli. Sometimes laws are just there because they always have been, because they are what we should be doing. Our laws were written by Father Durin the Deathless, who was told them by Mahal himself. Therefore it is not for us to question them.”

“Then why did Mahal tell me that I was to be mahdulyasthûn Thorinul?”

Balin jolts. “He did not!” he growls softly. “Kíli, do not blaspheme like that!”

Kíli narrows his yes. “He did! How do you know? You were not there when he told me!”

“Told you when? Who told you?”

“Mahal! He told me during my fire ritual!” Kíli exclaims with growing frustration that no-one seems to believe him.

Balin lays his hand over Kíli’s, trying to stay calm for the boy’s sake. “Listen, lad,” he says sternly. “No, I was not there. But if anyone other than me hears you say those words … The priests will consider it blasphemous, I can guarantee you that. Why would our Lord of the Anvil tell you to break his own laws, hm?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he felt he had made a mistake!”

Balin goes pale. “Kíli! How dare you! Mahal does not make mistakes!”

“He nearly made a mistake when He first made the seven Fathers,” Kíli argues back. “He would have destroyed them if Legnar had not stilled His hand. And none of us would be here today!”

Balin is impressed. The young prince must actually occasionally listen to his lessons in their cultural customs and religious beliefs. Nonetheless, he speaks with reckless tongue and it is dangerous.

“And he laid Durin alone,” Kíli continues to make his point. “All the other Fathers were granted  _mahdulyasth_ _â_ _na_  when He laid them to rest in the stone. But not Father Durin.” Kíli raises an eyebrow, suddenly wondering. “Why not Durin, Balin? How did Durin’s folk come about if our Father was not given a bride? Why was he not given his soulmate when all the others were?”

Balin fumbles. “I ehm … I don’t know my lad. You must read The Scrolls if you wish to learn more. Nonetheless, your feelings for Thorin … they are wrong,” he reinforces his point. “It is forbidden both under our earth-bound and religious laws and for all our souls you must forsake them. You are a handsome lad, Kíli, you will find good mates. But you cannot love him. It will destroy you both and everything we have all worked for if you do.”

“Why?!” Kíli feels his temper flare. “I thought our Maker was supposed to be merciful and loving. This is supposed to be an honour, a blessing! Then why are you so afraid? What can possibly be wrong with loving someone?”

“Because you will see your sacrilegious tongue ripped from your mouth if you do not learn to hold it still,” Balin hisses at him. Why does Kíli not listen to him? He has tried the soft approach, but since he does not appear to get anywhere with that it is time for the harsh truth to make him see sense. “Do you have any idea what happens to blasphemers?”

Kíli shakes his head.

“At best you will be branded and exiled. At worst …” He takes a deep breath, “you will have your tongue removed and then you will be stoned to death.” Kíli’s eyes go wide as finally he seems to realise the gravity of their situation. “Do you hear me, boy?! Thorin may have forgotten what used to happen when we lived in Azsâlul'abad. We were all young then and those matters of politics and religion were beyond our interest, even his. Since our exile from our homeland he has allowed our laws to be relaxed a little as he has tried to rebuild our society. But the Godord is gathering strength again. They are becoming more influential. I have warned Thorin, but he does not listen, does not see it. He is so focused on reclaiming the Lonely Mountain that he has closed his eyes and ears to what is happening right here in Khagal’abbad. And Gorm upholds the old values, the old laws. I am warning you, Kíli, as I have warned Thorin. You must forget about him, about what you think is between the two of you. He is your uncle and your warlord, nothing more.” He looks at Kíli who stares back with his usual defiance. And Balin makes one last attempt to plead with him, “Please promise me, lad, for I fear for you both.”

But Kíli shoves his chair back hard and storms out of the room.

“Kíli!” Balin calls after him, but the young prince has already disappeared.

***

Most of their written treasures were left in Azsâlul'abad when their people had fled their mountain home when Smaug the Terrible had come to lay claim on Thrór’s golden treasure. It was most likely that a lot of those ancient scripts were destroyed – a disastrous loss to their people. However, some of The Scrolls, sacred artefacts, had been rescued, grabbed by the temple priests as they had fled the inferno.

Fortunately for Kíli one of his few friends, Ori son of Frori, has access to The Scrolls and other reference materials since he works in the Temple as an apprentice scribe.

“I am doing research for a project that Balin has given me,” Kíli lies. “To look into the origins of my bloodline.  I am looking for anything to do with the Seven Fathers and Durin I. The older the better.”

“As you know, Kíli, as lot of our treasures were left behind in Azsâlul'abad,” Ori sighs sadly. “However, there are some scrolls that remain. They are very delicate and not really for public access.” He looks at the disappointed look on Kíli’s face and says kindly, “But since you are a prince of Durin I am sure that it will be alright.”

Kíli feels guilty for misleading his friend. Although it is not a complete lie. He does not know exactly what he is looking for. But he is sure that the rules that Balin has quoted to him are not original. They cannot be. It makes no sense. He wants to know more. Needs to know more! In particular he wants to find an answer to the question he had asked Balin - why his ancestor was laid to the stone alone, unlike his six brothers. It just seems to be an odd thing, an anomaly. After all Father Durin was Mahal’s favourite. Why would he give the others their blessing and not him? And he is not sure why, but somewhere in his subconscious mind he knows that in that mystery lies the answer to other questions. The answer to his predicament.

He gasps as Ori pushes open the door to the library. When he had been told that most of their written word was lost he had expected a handful of scrolls to remain. But this room is the size of their great hall and stacked from floor to ceiling with books and parchment scrolls. “All this survived?” he asks incredulously.

Ori shakes his head. “A lot of this has been regathered or rewritten over the years by the Godord. He leads Kíli to the far back of the room. “These are the original Scrolls,” he waves his hand. Even so, there must be over two hundred large rolls of parchments here. “These here are all to do with the House of Durin,” he indicates towards the left side of the racks holding the scrolls. “I will leave you to look through them. Just be careful with them, please? I will come back at sundown to lock up.”

“Thanks, Ori.”

“Ya harmu.” And he leaves the young prince alone in the library.

Kíli sighs as he stares as the rows of scrolls. Where to begin? He pulls one out at random and notes the runes on the seal.  _Thrain I TA 1934 – TA 2190_. Far too recent. He pulls out another, from a few places higher up.  _Durin IV SA 3352  TA – 115_. At least this is going in the right direction. He pulls the seal off and gently rolls the scroll out, scanning over the strong lines on the parchment. It is not particularly interesting stuff. There is a brief mention of the Siege of Barad-dûr with a reference to another scroll, which presumably talks in more detail about the seven-year siege which signalled the end of the Last Alliance. But otherwise it just states political matters that add nothing to what Kíli is looking for. He rolls the scroll back up and replaces the seal.

He picks up the wooden ladder that stands stored against the other wall and moves it so that he can access the higher shelves. He climbs straight to the top, hoping that the scrolls are stored in chronological order as they seem to be. As soon as he picks up one of the scrolls on the top shelf he can feel that these are indeed much older. The paper is delicate, brittle, and the runes are very different, not like the ones he has learnt. This must be the old Kîrth. He curses softly under his breath. He had not given that a thought. A script that has been lost to his people over time. As far as he knows none of the dwarves in Khagal’abbad can read the old runes. But that in itself is an interesting thought. If no-one can read the ancient scrolls, then how do they know for sure that their interpretation of their cultural and religious custom is as is written in the ancient scripts? What if things have been mistranslated over the years, retold and rewritten incorrectly? He needs to find someone who can read these scrolls for him as he is sure they hold a valuable piece of information. But who?

When Ori returns at sundown as promised, Kíli is still reading through the scrolls that he has been able to read. But they have revealed little of interest. None of them go back beyond the Second Age and most of them just describe trade alliances and battles, none of which hold anything to help Kíli disprove what Balin has told him – that Mahal had forbidden his creation to love their own blood and made it punishable by death.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Ori enquires.

Kíli shakes his head and points at the ancient scrolls at the top. “They may contain what I am looking for, but they are written in the old runes. You don’t happen to know anyone who can read the ancient karâth, do you?”

Ori shrugs his shoulders. “Not in Khagal’abbad, no. But it is said that some of the elves still know the old script. Those that were around at the time they were written. Of course we no longer have any contact with them. Since Thranduil turned his back on our people and Thorin has sworn off any allegiance with them.”

 _Elves_.

Kíli thinks this over as he walks back towards the royal quarters. There are elves in the harbour towns of Thafarsilafîn. He knows this because Thorin had made a big deal of having to travel through there on his way to the Southern Faction. Would there be any elves left there who could help him read the old scrolls? And could they be trusted? He smirks. Thorin would certainly not think so. But surely not all the elves are like the Woodland King? Once upon a time the alliances between the dwarves and elves had been strong and they had fought side by side in the great sieges of old. Besides, what other choice does he have? He will never stop loving Thorin. But if they are to have any chance at being together he has to get to the bottom of their origins and try and dispel this notion that what they are doing is something really bad. Knowing what he needs to do is one thing though. How is quite another. How is he going to smuggle some of the most precious documents of his people towards an elvish town several days travel from Khagal’abbad when he has never set a foot outside the dwarven stronghold without Thorin by his side?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that Tolkien specifically did not create a world with organised religion and priesthoods. This story takes a different view, but this is simply for the entertainment of the reader and is NOT Canon. 
> 
> The Godord were the ancient viking spiritual leaders. I have only used their name; this is by no means a representation of their beliefs or even the make up of their order as there was no highpriest in the Godord. 
> 
> zebdar’egam - king's throne. Zebdar is the augmentative form of zabad and can be translated as supreme king. I have used it here as the title for the one who wields the king's jewel only. Therefore this is the throne of the King under the Mountain.  
> Yâ Mahal - oh Mahal!  
> Iklifumun! - Damn!  
> Birashagammi - I am sorry (I regret)  
> mahdulyasthûn Thorinul - Thorin's divine husband  
> Legnar - Eru (translates as Surpreme God)  
> mahdulyasthâna - divine wives  
> Khagal’abbad - Blue Mountains  
> Ya harmu - With pleasure (with favour, this is a colloquial shortened version of Ya harmu 'addad - with the favour of the Fathers)  
> karâth - runes  
> Thafarsilafîn - Grey Havens (Silafîn comes from sâlaf and literally means ship-places)


	11. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

The moment Thorin and his entourage arrive back at the stronghold of Khagal'abbad is testing for the young prince. Kíli desperately wants to throw himself around Thorin’s neck, but he knows he has to behave appropriately like a prince of Durin. Even if there love was not forbidden under seemingly every law that governed their people, such display of affection for the rightful king would still be highly inappropriate. So instead he bows politely for his uncle and brother as they dismount. Nonetheless the sight of his uncle sends excited flutters all through his body.

“Did you have a good journey?” he asks, in as even a tone as he can manage.

Fortunately Fíli is bubbling over with excitement and he takes over the conversation immediately with his chatter as he tells Kíli all about their journey, about the southern faction and the dwarves that live there and about their stay in the elvish harbour.

Thorin gives Kíli a brief glance and a warm smile, before he leaves the brothers to catch up. And Kíli sighs as he tries to focus on Fíli’s enthusiastic tales when really all he wants to do is follow Thorin and feel his warmth envelop him, feel his moustache brush against his top lip.

“What were the elvish towns like?” he asks casually as they unsaddle the ponies.

“Big!” Fíli smiles. “Everything is huge. The elves are so tall!”

“And Thorin was alright with you staying there?”

Fíli laughs. “Not really. Dwalin convinced him though. And I was glad because riding for days on end is hard going, I tell you. My butt feels raw from being bounced around the saddle for so long.”

“Did you speak to any of the elves?”

“Nah. Nerin did all the talking. Say, why are you so interested in the elf folk anyway?”

Kíli shrugs. “Just curious. Never seen any. I have been stuck here for two weeks whilst you have been on your adventure.”

Fíli wraps his arms around his little brother. “Aw, I am sorry, Kee. I do feel bad. Next time we’ll convince Thorin that you must come with us. Did you miss me? Did you get up to any mischief whilst I was away?”

Kíli shoves his brother into the soft hay. “Never did. You don’t need you to babysit me.” Then he laughs and pounces on top of the blond, tickling him until Fíli begs him for mercy. It is good to have his big brother back. He has missed him, a lot.

***

Thorin does not join them for dinner that night. Dís is told that her brother is with Balin, bringing him up to speed with the happenings in the southern mountains, and that he has requested his dinner to be brought to them so not to wait for him. Kíli tries his best not to show his disappointment, but he knows he is doing a poor job. He has had to wait to see Thorin for over a fortnight and now he is not going to see him until the morning at the earliest. Still, he is not going to receive any sympathy from his mother so he keeps his mouth shut.

When Fíli and he retire for the night, his brother is out like a light almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. The long days of travelling have taken their toll and the blond prince is grateful to lie down on the soft hay-filled mattress and feathered pillows.

But Kíli is restless. He tosses and turns for what feels like hours. Every time he drifts off he soon jolts awake again, his disquiet scrawling through his body like an itch. He wants to see Thorin. He needs to see him. Now that his lover is back in the same building as him dealing with their separation has become even harder. And there and then he decides that he cannot wait any longer.

“Fee?” he whispers across the room. “Fee, are you awake?” But only a soft snoring comes from the other bed. 

Carefully, quietly Kíli slips out of his bed and pulls his outer coat over his night garments. He carefully tiptoes past his brother’s bed, listening to his gentle breathing, and pulls the door open, cringing at the groaning of the old wood. But Fíli remains fast asleep as his brother sneaks out of their room.

***

He had always been a light sleeper. But ever since they fled Azsâlul'abad and had spent months on the road, ever having to look over their shoulders, even the slightest unfamiliar noise stirs him from his slumber. And something has awoken him tonight. He keeps his eyes closed, but his ears are on high alert as his hand slides under his pillow and wraps around the cold steel of the dagger he keeps there.

As he can hear the soft steps of the intruder approach his bed every muscle in his body is on edge. And the moment he feels the dip in the mattress he twists himself around and within a split second he has the intruder pinned under him, the knife pressed against his attacker’s throat.

A soft squeak escapes his nephew’s lips.

“Kíli!” Immediately Thorin releases the weapon against his lover’s throat. “Zu nudn lulkul!” he growls. “I could have slit your throat for that!”

“Bira-birashagammi,” Kíli whimpers. “I did not mean to startle you. I … I missed you so.” He lets out a sob.

Thorin drops the knife onto the floor and pulls Kíli hard into his arms as he rolls onto his side. “Oh Kíli,” he kisses his temple. “I missed you too. You silly princeling. I am sorry that I frightened you. But stalking into my room like that was foolish. You should not be here, you know that.”

“I know, Thorin. But you have been away for so long. And I did not even get to see you at dinner. I could not sleep. I just needed to be with you.”

Thorin moves himself towards his nightstand and twists the knob on the oil lamp so that the little flame burns brighter, allowing him to see his beautiful nephew glowing in the soft light. He is such a delightful sight, his dark hair scruffy from sleep framing his handsome face. The soft smile a promise of love.

He crawls back towards him and their lips find each other with passion. Thorin feels himself sink quickly into the heat of Kíli’s mouth. For but a moment he fights the guilt. Balin had said nothing to him as he had related the affairs of the southern faction to him, but his silent looks had told him enough. Do not go there, it had said. Do not risk everything for him. But it is hopeless. Kíli is like a magnet pulling at him. And the more he tries to resist the feeling the closer he feels himself dragged towards him.

As their kiss deepens Kíli pushes himself harder against him and he can feel his arousal press through the thin fabric of his night garment.

“Thorin…” Kíli whispers softly. “Can we … can we take our clothes off?”

Thorin’s breath hitches. He should say no. He should tell Kíli to return to his own bed. Instead he finds his hands slide down Kíli’s back. He knows Kíli does not wear small clothes underneath and as he pulls up the gown his fingers find the soft skin of Kíli’s buttocks. He pulls his lover’s leg between his own, feeling the warmth of his private area enveloping his thigh. His own cock presses hard between them now, tenting his own nightgown unforgivingly.

Kíli’s deft hands are sliding easily underneath what is left of his modesty. As soon as his hand touches the skin underneath Thorin draws a shuddering breath. “Oh Kíli,” he breathes hard. “I have missed you so. You have been on my mind every minute that I was away from you.”

“And you on mine,” Kíli answers as his fingers tease over Thorin’s hot skin. With a soft groan Thorin rolls Kíli back onto his back and he helps him pull the garment over his head which joins the knife on the floor, quickly followed by his own gown.

Kíli stares at him, his eyes wide and dark with desire as Thorin straddles him. He reaches out for his lover’s thick, hard cock, unsure at first, but with the slightest nod from Thorin in encouragement he wraps his hand firmly around the shaft pressed against his own.

“Have you … did you come, whilst you were away,” Kíli asks with a little blush.

Thorin smiles. “Once. When we stopped in the elvish town and I had the privacy of my own chamber.” He feels the pulse of want run through his member as he returns the question. “Did you?”

Kíli blushes deeper now. “Yes. Every night as I thought of you.”

Thorin’s smile widens. “Zu masaddazulmazmith,” he grins. He bends himself down to press a firm kiss on Kíli’s lips, pressing his erection hard against Kíli’s cock as he does so. Slowly he moves himself so that he can work his way down Kíli’s body, pressing warm kisses all along his neck and chest into the soft hollow underneath his ribcage. As he traces the hot skin with his lips he can hear Kíli’s heartbeat speed up when he presses his ear against his chest as his finger teases a sensitive nipple.

Kíli’s fingers are playing with his hair, wrapping themselves around his braids, tugging softly. Kíli had always loved playing with his thick braids that carried the symbols of their lineage for as long as Thorin remembers, and the gesture marks the bond that has been between them from the day Kíli was born.

He slides himself further down the young prince’s body, pressing more kisses against the skin of his belly, until his lips touch the coarse line of hair that runs down to Kíli’s manhood.

“Thorin,” Kíli moans softly. “That … that feels so good.”

Gently Thorin wraps his large hand around Kíli’s prick, closing his eyes at the forbidden delight. “Good, my sweet boy,” he whispers huskily. His head rests on the inside of Kíli’s thigh now and he carefully pulls Kíli’s prick towards his mouth.

Kíli gasps as his sensitive tip is taken into that heat, Thorin’s tongue tasting the wetness glistening on the tip.

“Irak…‘adad!” his nephew whispers urgently.

Thorin lets go of his hardness and looks up. “Are you alright, Kíli? Do you want me to stop?”

“Lu’! No! Just …” He bites his lip. “Your whiskers tickle,” he giggles softly.

Thorin chuckles. “But does it feel good?”

Kíli nods eagerly. “Kun! So good!”

“Then I will continue if you want me to,” Thorin teases, just licking a broad stripe over that delicious crown again, savouring the taste on his tongue.

“Zabirasakhjami,” Kíli begs and he leans himself back. As soon as Thorin takes him back into his mouth he groans loudly, unable to stop the deep guttural sound that so perfectly describes the overwhelming feeling.

Thorin lets his tongue swipe along Kíli’s hard shaft again, listening to the sounds his young lover cries out to tell him where is most sensitive and what he likes. The smell of his arousal is prickling his senses and he wraps Kíli’s leg between his, pressing his cock against his flesh, rutting himself gently against the hot skin. His one hand has a firm grip on Kíli’s base as he continues to work his mouth down his length, whilst the other is stroking the inside of Kíli’s thigh, teasing his hand up into his groin, feeling the heat radiate from between his legs.

As Kíli’s whimpers increase in volume and frequency and the salty sweet fluid flows more freely from his tip onto Thorin’s tongue the older dwarf knows he is close. And he gently pulls his mouth away.

Kíli’s eyes flutter open and he looks down with disappointment that Thorin abandoned him just as that amazing feeling was about the take hold of him.

“My sweet boy,” Thorin says softly as he pushes himself up a little. He does not want to end this just yet. He does not know when they can be together like this again and he wants to make the night last. And so he places a wet kiss onto Kíli’s thigh and then moves himself off the bed. 

“Thorin?” Kíli asks softly. “Did … did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all, umralê,” Thorin smiles warmly over his shoulder, before rummaging through his backpack since he had not yet had time to unpack. And right now he can kiss Dwalin for urging him to accept his gift on their way back home. Thorin had frowned at him for his blatant meddling. But the little bottle that he pulls out of his backpack is precious as liquid mithril to him.

He climbs back onto the bed, placing little kisses along Kíli’s legs again. “Kíli,” he says with a low voice full of desperate want, “you must trust me.” The brunet nods slightly. “You asked me to teach you what happens when dwarves court.” Kíli’s eyes sparkle with eager anticipation and his whole face beams with excitement. “I … I want us to take it slowly,” Thorin says thickly. “But if you will allow me … I want to try something.”

“Kun, amrâlê,” Kíli whispers back.

Thorin uncorks the little bottle in his hand. He glances over at Kíli again who just looks at him with curious interest.

“What is that?” he asks.

“Oil.”

“What for?”

Thorin bites his bottom lip as he pours a little bit into his hand, coating his fingers in the lubricant. “I will show you,” he swallows. “Spread your legs a little more for me. Just pull your knees up.” Kíli complies trustingly with Thorin’s instructions. “That's it. Now relax, my beautiful prince.” He slowly circles the base of Kíli’s cock, tracing his finger down his sack and over his taint.

Kíli shivers under the slippery touch. Then he jolts as Thorin’s finger runs down between his buttocks, gently teasing over the folds of his entrance. That feels odd! And initially he is not sure if he likes that and he frowns.

“It’s alright, sweet boy,” Thorin soothes. “If it does not feel nice we will stop.”

“No … It is … ” Kíli breathes heavily as Thorin rubs the tips of his fingers over the sensitive rumpled skin again. Actually it does feel nice. Just … weird, to have his uncle touch him there. “It’s nice …” he sighs though and pulls his legs up a little more. He feels the little spasms that flutter through his privates at that gentle playful touch. “More.”

“More? Would you … would you like me to put my finger inside you?” Thorin whispers, his own cock trembling and weeping at the thought.

“In?!” Kíli’s eyes blow wide again as he looks down. “In … in there?!”

“Yes, my sweet love. If you would like me to.”

“Is that what is supposed to happen?”

“Kun, nudnê. Would you like me to try? Please tell me if it hurts and I will stop.”

Kíli nods, but he feels a little anxious. Why does Thorin want to put his finger inside his bum? It seems like an odd suggestion, but he trust his uncle to guide him as he had guided him before.

Thorin pours a little more oil onto his fingers. Truth be told he is just as nervous as Kíli. He knows that this is what he is supposed to do and the thought alone is almost enough to make him spill. Yet this is so forbidden, so completely beyond all boundaries. If he hadn’t sold his soul already than surely tonight he will. But he pushes that thought away and runs his fingers over Kíli’s entrance a few more times, slicking him up as much as possible, before slowly pushing his index finger against the strong muscle.

Kíli twitches and gasps for a moment, but to Thorin’s surprise the young prince quickly relaxes back, which allows Thorin to slide his finger deeper into the tight heat.

“Oh my …” the younger dwarf sighs blissfully. Yes! That feels amazing!

A shiver runs down Thorin’s body and into all his erogenous zones at once as Kíli’s muscles grab at his digit.

“How … how does it feel, little Kee?” he asks, intrigued, holding his finger still now.

“Amazing,” Kíli answers as he lifts his head up to look at Thorin. “Weird, but amazing. Please … More …”

Thorin smiles back. Thank Mahal he has managed to get this bit right and not hurt his Kíli. He slowly twists his finger around the soft walls pressing in on him. And Kíli sighs deeply, his soft groans encouraging Thorin to continue his careful exploration.

“That’s … that’s so nice,” Kíli whimpers softly as Thorin curves his finger a little, stroking Kíli gently.

“Do you think you could take another finger?” Thorin asks carefully. He does not want to rush his lover, but oh this is so beautiful, so very arousing!

“I think so,” Kíli nods, rolling himself into a ball to give his uncle everything. He had never known he needed this so very badly but now that Thorin is fingering him there … he wants that feeling to never ever stop.

Thorin pulls back his finger a little until just the tip remains inside the clenching entrance of Kíli’s hole before he places his middle finger alongside, pushing against the ring of muscles. Kíli flinches a little at the additional stretch which is a little uncomfortable at first. “It is alright, my brave warrior,” Thorin kisses Kíli’s thigh. “Just relax.” He hopes he sounds more confident and reassuring than he feels. The pressure Kíli is exerting on his fingers is so strong and he is worried to hurt him, being so inexperienced himself.

But Kíli opens up beautifully for him. “Mahal mahdul,” he moans. “Nngh.” He wriggles himself around Thorin’s fingers as he is starting to enjoy the pleasure of his touch, each rub against his insides sending sparks all around his body and making his cock leak thickly.

Thorin smiles brightly. “Does that feel nice, abnamulûn?”

“Yes! Oh so good, Thorin,” Kíli groans heatedly. His hands are clawing at the sheets as he rolls his backside up even more. He grabs for his buttocks, opening himself up as much as he can to Thorin’s touch, wanting to feel that touch so very deep inside him.

Thorin teases his fingers around the intense heat, learning too what it feels like and what seems to bring Kíli pleasure. His other hand finds his own cock as he starts to run his hand over his length, which is pulsing furiously now. “Would you like to touch yourself, Kíli?” he asks huskily. “Like you did when I was away?”

Kíli grins and his hand obediently slides down to take hold of his prick.

The beautiful view of his lover pulling himself towards pleasure as Thorin’s fingers are teasing his lovely hole is plenty enough to send Thorin tumbling towards the ravine of his own peak. And he is just about to warn Kíli that he is close to spilling when all of a sudden Kíli lets out a lustful wail, clenching his backside hard around Thorin’s hand. For a heartbeat Thorin thinks he has hurt him. But the big gush of cum that follows Kíli’s moan tells him otherwise. “Yâ Zabad Mahalmâ!” Kíli cries out as the gentle twist of Thorin’s finger against a nub inside his body makes his body release a further load of hot seed onto his belly, wrecking the young prince completely.

Thorin feels his own body rock and his thighs tremble as the warm liquid from his own cock spills over into his fist. Kíli has locked his hand into a vice now and all he can do is collapse down onto Kíli’s legs as his orgasm takes his breath away.

Seconds pass in silence as the two princes slowly come to their senses.

Then Kíli relaxes and releases his grip onto Thorin’s now cramped hand.

Thorin moves himself back up, pulling Kíli in. “Did that feel good?” he asks unnecessarily as Kíli has clearly demonstrated so.

“Unbelievably so,” Kíli sighs against his chest. “There is something there. A little spot. When you touched me there. Oh Thorin, it was like … I cannot describe it. Just … amazing. Bliss.”

Thorin feels a little flutter of pride. He may be woefully inexperienced for a buck of his age and standing. But he has managed to give Kíli that ultimate pleasure tonight. And he feels rather smug about it.

***

Thorin awakes with a jolt. They have fallen asleep in each other’s arms and he has no idea what the time is. Kíli should be returning to his own rooms, before the rest of the house wakes up.

“Kíli,” he shakes his lover gently. “Kíli, I am so sorry but you have to leave now. You have to go back to your own bed.”

Kíli grumbles groggily, wiping his mouth as he opens his eyes.

“Come on, my sweet boy. You must get dressed and return to your room,” Thorin urges him regretfully. “You cannot be in my room when the others wake.”

Kíli yawns and rubs his eyes. “Yes Thorin,” he sighs. He hates it. He just wants to lie here in Thorin’s loving embrace until dawn. It is not fair that he has to flee from his lover’s bed like a thief in the night.

He stumbles out of bed and pulls his night gown over his head. His overcoat is lying on the floor nearer the door, left there when he had secretly entered Thorin’s chamber earlier.

Thorin is behind him now and pulls him against his chest. “Amralizu,” he whispers in Kíli’s ear.

Kíli draws in a sharp breath in surprise. “I love you too,” he whispers back. They have said it before but Thorin’s expression of his feelings in their sacred tongue seems to add weight to its meaning. And he smiles and gives Thorin one last deep kiss before he leaves his bedchamber.

***

He tries to sneak in as quietly as he can, tiptoeing carefully across the bedroom past his sleeping brother before he slides himself under the covers of his cold bed.

Just as he turns himself over, his brother’s voice startles him. “Where have you been?”

Kíli can feel his cheeks burn and he pulls the furs up even higher to hide his face. “Nowhere,” he mumbles. “Just… couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk.”

“For the past three or so hours?”

Kíli doesn’t know what to respond to that. So Fíli had heard him leave. He really has to be more careful.

“Did anyone see you?” Fíli asks much to his surprise.

“Mohh? See me where?”

“See you leave Thorin’s chambers, zu nadnith lulkhul?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zu nudn lulkul! - You stupid boy!  
> Birashagammi - Sorry (I regret)  
> Zu masaddazulmazmith - you little rabbit (mazmith is the age diminutive form of muzm - beast).  
> irak'adad - uncle  
> Lu' - no  
> Kun - yes  
> Zabirasakhjami - Please (formal, lit. would you grant)  
> umralê - my lover  
> amrâlê - my love  
> nudnê - my boy  
> Mahal mahdul - Blessed Mahal  
> abnamulûn - beautiful-man  
> Yâ Zabad Mahalmâ! - Oh Lord our Maker!  
> Amralizu - I love you  
> Mohh? - Huh?  
> zu nadnith lulkhul - you foolish little brother


	12. Naddad

“You had no right!” he jabs his finger accusingly in his uncle’s face. “No right at all!”

Thorin narrows his eyes and says in his authoritative tone, “Lower your finger, Kíli.” He would not normally respond so calmly to Kíli’s disrespect, but he has a good idea why his nephew is standing here shouting at him.

Kíli glares at his uncle, his eyes flaring. But after a brief standoff he gives in to Thorin’s return stare and jerks back his hand with a huff. “I can’t believe you!” he hisses through his teeth. “You order me to keep  _us_  a secret. Tell me that I cannot talk to anyone about it. Not even to Fíli. Especially not Fíli!”

“Kíli…” Thorin tries to interrupt the little tirade, but Kíli is not done just yet.

“You hypocrite!”

Thorin flushes at the insult and open his mouth to argue back. But then he shuts it again as he cannot think of a suitable defence. After all he knows Kíli has every right to be angry with him. After what they had agreed. After what he had done.

“First you tell Balin. And now I find that you have told my brother! I am surprised the town crier hasn’t shouted it across the halls yet!”

Thorin reaches out towards Kíli to try and calm him down, but his lover shrinks away from him.

“Don’t touch me! I am so mad with you right now!” Kíli yells. “You could at least have told me!”

“I was going to tell you,” Thorin says softly. “I have not had the opportunity yet.”

Kíli scoffs. “You had plenty of opportunity last night. I spend long enough in your bed!” he growls.

“Lower your voice!” Thorin hisses. Despite what Kíli may think he had not told the entire court and they must certainly not announce the secrets of the bedroom for all to hear.  But when Kíli crosses his arms in utter defiance, waiting for him to explain to his younger lover exactly why he does not have to abide by the rules he himself had set, he grumbles softly, somewhat embarrassed by Kíli’s silent reprimand, “I … we were somewhat otherwise engaged…”

But Kíli is too angry even to laugh at Thorin’s blush. “Why should I lower my voice? You clearly have no problem laying bare our secrets to everyone! Fíli …”

“I had no choice!” Thorin blurts out in an attempt to silence Kíli.

Kíli quietens now, breathing hard. “What do you mean, _you had no choice?_ ” he spits.

Only then does Thorin realise that what he is about to say will send Kíli reeling even more and he regrets his thoughtless statement. Still, it is too late for that now. “Fíli … he overheard Dwalin say something to me. About us… I had to explain…”

Kíli pales first as his jaw drops in utter disbelief. But just as quickly he goes bright red as his anger at Thorin flares. “Dwalin?!! Mi targu Mahal, Thorin, it would be quicker for you to tell me who you haven’t told! I take it you told ‘amadê as well?!” Kíli continues his tirade with renewed force.

Thorin has just about had enough of his nephew’s shouting and he raises himself up to put a stop to it now, but he is interrupted by an all too familiar voice and the words freeze dead in his mouth.

“Told me what?”

Both princes whip around to find Dís standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. “What in the name of Durin are you two shouting at each other like market vendors about?”

Thorin goes white as he wonders how much his sister may have heard of their argument. No, he has not told Dís. Mahal no! He has no idea how his sister would react to such news, but he cannot imagine that she would be overjoyed at her brother stealing away her youngest son’s innocence when their love is considered such a sinful act.

“It is nothing, ‘amad. Just private stuff,” Fíli struts past his mother, as much to Thorin’s surprise as his relief. “You know, buck stuff.” He gives her a little wink.

Dís looks between her three kin and then smiles. “I see.” If that is so then it is not her place to ask further. Her sons are of age now and if they had not been princes of the royal house of Durin then they would by now be living in the male community and no longer under her watchful eye. That would normally be their father’s job. But Fíli only has little contact with his natural father and Kíli has never known his since he died when she was still carrying the babe. She knows both boys look to their uncle as their male role model, that he has been the one to teach them their trades and battle skills.  So it is only natural that he is also the one bearing the brunt of her sons’ outbursts as they are starting to challenge the boundaries whilst they find their way into adulthood. She can guess that Thorin has probably disapproved of Kíli’s choice of a mate, knowing just how protective her brother is of her boys. Or maybe he has even learnt of Kíli’s first fumbling attempts at courting someone and he has embarrassed her son by telling Dwalin about it. Poor boy, it must be hard on him having Thorin hovering over his every move.

She walks up to her brother. “Don’t be too hard on him, margith.” The brothers giggle as Thorin flushes at the pet name. “Now can I leave the three of you safe in the knowledge that you will not be tearing out each other’s throats?” To her satisfaction her kin all nod compliantly. “Good, now, Thorin, I came here to remind you that we need to discuss the Midwinter Festival arrangements. When you are done with these two, please will you spare me some time?”

Thorin gives an acknowledgement and the three princes watch Dís walk out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“Akhminrukizu, Fíli,” Thorin sighs, laying a hand on the blond’s shoulder.

Kíli momentarily glares at the both of them, still annoyed that neither had not told him about their chat the minute they had returned to Khagal’abbad. But then he hugs his brother tightly. “Kun, thanks, Fee.”

But Fíli shrugs off the hand and pushes his brother away. “Do not think this is how things are going to be from now on,” he scowls at the both of them. “If you want what is between you to remain a secret then you both need to be more discreet. I am not going to come running every time to save your hides.” And he storms out of the door after his mother.

In truth he had not been surprised at all by the revelation when his uncle had admitted to him that he was secretly courting his brother. Kíli and Thorin had always had a very special bond between them. And recently he had started to pick up on things - how they seemed to glance at each other a little longer than previous, a knowing sort of look between them. Then on the morning of their departure he had thought for a moment that he had intruded on something private, although he could not have been sure.

Then on their way back home from the southern mountains, he had overheard Dwalin ask Thorin if he had spoken to him – him being Fíli - about Kíli yet. And he had instinctively known.

When Thorin still had not mentioned anything to him come their last day on the road, Fíli had asked him outright if he was courting his baby brother. His uncle had been taken aback by the frank question, but had not denied it. He had just told him how important it was that Fíli would not discuss it with anyone else, including Dís. And he had asked him not say anything to Kíli until he had spoken to him.

Of course Fíli had assumed that Thorin had told Kíli about their conversation when his brother has snuck out in the middle of the night to see him.  _Silly reckless Kíli_.  Now that his suspicions were confirmed he thought how obvious the two of them were. They might not express their love for each other out loud. But to Fíli anyone with eyes in their head must surely see that they are more than just uncle and nephew.

“Fee!” Kíli comes running after him. “Fee, wait!”

He slows his pace to let his brother catch up with him. When Kíli falls in step beside him, he smiles at him. “Want to go to the market to grab something to eat?”

Kíli smiles back, relieved that things seem alright between them. They had spoken briefly the night before, when his brother had caught him sneaking back into their bedroom. He had been worried about Fíli’s reaction, expecting disapproval. But Fíli had just reprimanded him for being so careless and had turned back over, seemingly fine with the notion of their secret relationship as he just wanted to go back to sleep.

They stroll over the cobblestones over the inner courtyard. It is still very early and the vendors are just setting up their stalls. This is the best time to come to the market, when the freshly baked goods are just put out, still warm and steaming.

Fíli stops at one of the stalls to buy them some hot apple juice. Then Kíli treats them in return to one of the custard filled pastries that his sweet-toothed brother loves so much. For a moment they are like khazdîth again, laughing happily together as they tuck into their treats.

“You want to go outside for a bit?” Kíli asks once they have finished their naughty breakfast.

Fíli nods happily. “Kun!” Their people are mountain dwellers, they always have been and always will be. He does love their home inside these mountains. But he and his brother had the freedom here to enjoy the outside world within reason also. As long as they stayed within the boundaries of the first treeline and within sight of the dwarven fortress then they were free to go as they pleased. And both love to breathe in the fresh air and to chase each other across the plains. It is nearly midwinter and the snow has already fallen thickly across the land. But the sun is out and they don’t feel the cold as much as mankind do.

They decide to practise their weapon skills for a while, without Dwalin shouting at them for their mistakes. Kíli laughs when Fíli misses the target for the third time. His brother had never been very good at archery.

“Stop laughing!” Fíli growls. “You have your skill, I have mine, alright.”

“It’s alright, brother. You have your knives ready to fight the orcs. Shame they will never even get close enough as I will already have taken them all out with my arrows,” Kíli brags as he pulls the stray arrow out of the hard ground.

Fíli huffs. They have never seen any orcs. He does not even know what one looks like other than in his imagination from the many stories from their elders told during the long winter nights in front of the fire.

He takes his quiver off and drops that and his bow against a snow covered log. He shoves the snow aside with his boot to make space for the two of them and they sit themselves down side by side, enjoying the winter sun and the fresh air.

“So…” Fíli begins, grinning, “what’s he like then, Kee?”

Kíli is drawing circles in the snow with his heavy boots. “What’s who like?”

“Don’t play silly. Thorin of course! What’s he like in bed?” Kíli blushes heavily and his brother laughs hard. “Aaaw, you’re blushing! How sweet is that!”

Kíli shoves him hard. “Shut up!”

“Oh, come on, spill the beans brother! We all want to know what he is like!”

Kíli looks panic-stricken. “We?!”

But Fíli puts a reassuring hand on his. “Don’t worry brother, no-one else knows about you two as far as I know. Although I meant it earlier when I said you have to be more discreet. But what I mean is … Well, it’s Thorin! The crown prince of Durin’s folk, future king of the dwarrow. He has admirers far and wide! Honestly, Kíli, if only people knew you would be the envy of everyone in Khagal’abbad!”

Kíli smiles broadly. “Really?”

Fíli nods, slapping his brother on the back. “Yes really! Every buck and dam I know will be devastated to hear that their virtuous king has finally decided to court, only to learn that he has committed himself to you!”

“So you believe me then? That he is mahdulyasthûn?”

Fíli takes a deep breath. “When you first asked me about  _the blessing_  … I thought about it afterwards, about you asking whether it could be a male dwarf. And I thought perhaps you meant Thorin.” He knows this is dangerous territory. But he also knows it is the truth. “Kun, Kee, I can see it. You belong together. Mahal made you to be his happiness and he yours. And you both deserve it,” he states firmly and from the bottom of his heart.

“Thanks,” Kíli sighs happily, leaning against Fíli’s shoulder. His brother believing him means more than anything to him.

“But you are dodging my question, baby brother. So have you…?”

Kíli stares at the patterns he has made in front of him. “Have we what?”

“You know! Have you done it yet?”

“We’ve done … stuff…”

“Stuff? What sort of stuff? Come on, Kee, you are not normally this quiet! If you have done it then we can finally talk about it,” Fíli says eagerly. He had waited five years for his brother to come of age and share those romantic secrets with him.

Kíli takes a deep breath. “Well… we have kissed. A lot!” he smiles broadly.

But Fíli waves his hand dismissively. “I am sure you have. But that is hardly what I want to hear about!”

“He has taught me how to … uhum … make myself …” His cheeks are burning fiercely. “Feel nice …” he says quietly, feeling the tips of his ears flare red.

“Oh great,” Fíli teases, “so I am going to have to listen to you jacking off from now on!”

Kíli kicks the side of his leg. “Have had to listen to you too! And now I know what you were up to all those nights when you told me to  _just go to sleep_!”

“Alright, fair enough,” Fíli giggles. “So what else?” he asks gleefully, feeling a little excited about hearing about his little brother’s amorous adventures – and with Thorin of all dwarves!

“Last night … he ehm … he put his finger …” Kíli’s voice drops even lower under his embarrassment, “… in my butt.” He has shuffled his feet so hard through the snow that there is now a bare muddy patch in front of him.

“ _Just_ his finger?” Fíli enquires carefully.

Kíli looks sidelong at him. “Kun. What do you mean by  _just his finger_?”

Fíli knows that if Kíli still has not done it he should not talk about it. But there are so many things he is not allowed to talk about now and clearly Thorin and Kíli are quite happy to break all the rules anyway. So he blurts out, “But he hasn’t put his cock in there?”

Kíli’s eyes grow wide with shock. “His … cock …?! In there? What do you mean?!”

Fíli turns to look at his little brother, who looks befuddled. “Yes. That is what sex is, baby brother. With a buck … But I guess he hasn’t by the shocked looked on your face.”

“In … my butt?!” Kíli repeats in shock. Then he shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous,” he simply says. “It would never fit in there.”

Fíli laughs. “It will! If you use enough oil and prepare well first. With  _fingers_ ,” he winks.

Realisation slowly dawns on Kíli. “You’re … you’re serious!” He had thought his brother was just pulling his leg. Trying to make him belief another one of his made up stories, as he used to do so often when they were little. Like when he had told Kíli that cheese grew in the sky, which is why the moon sometimes looked like it had a bite taken out of it.

But Fíli nods. “I am.”

“So have you?” Kíli asks.

This time it is Fíli’s turn to blush a little. “I have put my cock in there. It feels very good, Kee. Very different with a dam than with a buck. But very good.”

“Oh! And have you … like … had someone … put it in you?” Kíli is curious now.

Fíli shakes his head. “Lu’.”

“So who decides? I mean who does … well …”

Fíli shrugs. “I’m not sure. I guess because of our standing and therefore because we have to take the initiative that we do. I … I have never thought about it …” He had assumed that Thorin would be the one to take Kíli purely because he was his senior both in rank and age. As far as his own romantic adventures were concerned Fíli had been quite happy to be the one to take and it had never been turned down or suggested to him that he would be on the receiving end. Now the thought of that was both arousing and scary. “I guess we both still have things to learn,” he flushes a little.

Kíli nods. But he is worried now. Is Thorin really going to want to put his cock in his butt? He thinks about his uncle’s thick shaft, how big and heavy it had felt in his hand, and he still cannot imagine how that would even work.

Fíli puts an arm around him. “Don’t look so worried, little one. It will be fine. I am sure Thorin will take good care of you.” He stands up and pulls his knives out of their sheaves on his bracers, ready to show his brother that he may not be a good archer but he sure is an excellent melee fighter. “Now, are you ready for me to have my revenge?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> naddad - brothers (plural of nadad)  
> Mi targu Mahal - by the beard of Mahal!  
> 'amad - mother  
> margith - bear cub (young bear, single age diminutive)  
> Akhminrukizu - Thank you (informal address of a male)  
> Kun - Yes  
> khazdîth - dwarflings (young dwarves, plural age diminutive)  
> mahdulyasthûn - blessed husband


	13. Winter Fest

Iklaladranamrâg, the Winter Fest. One of the primary events in the dwarrow calendar. The festival ran from the twentieth highmoon of  _'afdush_ to the eighteenth highmoon of  _'afiglêb_ and celebrated the origins of their kin. During the cycle of the Dark Moon their people would reflect on the time that the Seven Fathers had been laid in the stone by Mahal. The second half of the festival, during the Speaking Moon cycle, celebrated their awaking.  Like most dwarvish festivals it was a time for loud celebration with plenty of song, food and ale. But it was also a time for reflection and prayer and paying respects to the greatness of the Mahal, Zabadu Dehar, Lord of the Anvil.

It is his duty as leader of Durin’s folk in Khagal’abbad to initiate the festival in the Temple. And as always Thorin meets with the Kehnar, the high priest, a few days beforehand to run through the programme for the opening ceremony.

“Kehnar Gorm,” he nods to the short grey-haired dwarf with the long thick beard who greets him.

“Zabad Thorin,” Gorm bows his head to him. “Idmi ni Zaharu Mahal. Please come in.”

Thorin silently follows the highpriest towards the altar room where they both kneel down before the sacred fire burning in front of Mahal’s statue.

 _“Shamukh Mahalmâ,”_  Gorm recites. “ _Makhminruki Astû, Uzbadu ‘Aban, ku’ mahada mâ ya agakâkh-hu. Ai-thanudsu aglâkhzu du kulhu talbithîn Astû, ra ahlâthzu du kurûdmâ.”_

_Hail Our Maker. We thank You wholeheartedly, King of the Stone, who has sanctified us with His commandments. Extend Your kindness to those who worship You, and Your divine strength to our hearts._

_“Shamukh Mahal,”_ Thorin choruses as Gorm finishes the prayer and they rise to their feet.

Thorin listens politely as the Kehnar starts to run through the preparations for the festival. Gorm will as always recite the opening prayer before the congregation in the temple. His temple priests will then light the six torches from the sacred fire and bless the six Fathers of the other clans. Last Gorm will light Durin’s torch and pass it to Thorin as his direct descendant to declare the beginning of Iklaladranamrâg. During the festival there will be six days of fasting and prayer in honour of each of the Fathers, each followed by feasting and drinking. The seventh day seven days of festivities in in honour of Durin the Deathless will commence, Father of Durin’s folk, Thorin’s ancestor. During this period the priests will lock themselves away in the temple to make their personal sacrifices. Those happenings inside the temple are a strictly guarded secret only known to the initiated priests. Then on the final evening of the seventh day from the seventh day Thorin will be given Durin’s Warhammer by Gorm in a ceremonial display. And at the end of that ritual every adult dwarrow, bucks and dams alike, will gather back in the Great Hall to pay honour to Father Durin with plenty more ale … and choose a mate to pay their own private tribute to the Mahal the Great.  

This will be Fíli’s eighth Winter Fest as a buck and Thorin has no doubt that the boy is looking forward to the festival at large but the final night in particular. His eldest nephew has already earned the reputation as a fervent lover, talk of which had even reached Thorin’s ears. He is pleased for him, pleased that Fíli had not been burdened by his inheritance as Thorin had, and that he is able to enjoy his adulthood and prove his worthiness as any other young buck would.

For Kíli, however, this would be his first Iklaladranamrâg. And Thorin feels anxious. He needs to speak to his secret lover about it. Kíli will get offers during the evening, and plenty of them Thorin expects. It is only during the Midwinter Fest that offers can be made someone of a lower rank, although it would still be up to Kíli to reject or accept them. And it is a problem. Kíli cannot accept them as mahdulyusth-hu. However, similarly it would be considered odd and even disrespectful to Mahal if the young Durin prince is not seen to be taking a mate on the festival night. Thorin had managed to get away with it only because he had never lain with another dwarf; his life-long celibacy considered his sacrifice for his people by many and as such he brings his own honour to Mahal. But he is an exception; the only exception. Sexual intercourse is a divine gift, the reward for their hard labour. And the young Durin prince would not get away with such a statement of denial.

“Are you content with all that, Thorin?” Gorm asks, snapping him back to reality.

“Kun, akhminizu,” Thorin nods and leaves the temple to return the main stronghold.

The last part of the conversation had bypassed Thorin in his daydream, but he knew the rituals by heart. Most of this meeting had been unnecessary, but it was part of their custom and he knows how much the Kehnar values the old ways and rituals. He is older than Thorin, of his father’s generation; stern and old-fashioned, set in his ways. But Thorin had never seen any menace in him. Then again other than for the festivals he did not engage much with the dwarf. Personal prayers and sacrifices were made in private and dwarves held no mass like he knew the men’s folk in the towns he blacksmithed in did. It was the priests job to keep the Lagân on side, Mahal especially, as it was Thorin’s job to maintain the peace amongst their people. The two did not need to cross paths unless one or the other failed in their duties.

But Balin over these last few years had given him some subtle warnings about Kehnar Gorm. That he was power-hungry and had begun to make comments about the old laws needing to be re-enforced. Thorin remembers the old laws all too well. He had witnessed corporal punishment and executions only a handful of times in Azsâlul'abad, but they had left a lasting impression on him. No such punishments had occurred under his reign in Khagal’abbad. And he was not about to reintroduce them any time soon if he could help it. Gorm has no judicial powers except where they concerned their religious laws as for any civil and criminal matters Thorin is the judicator. And with so many of his people lost in the inferno of Azsâlul'abad and the subsequent Battle of Azanulbizar, not to mention those lost during their exile in search of a safe haven, he is not about to maim or kill off any more of his own people unless the severity of the crime warrants such a retribution. Matters of dispute, theft, and honour can be settled in a manner that does not diminishes the population or renders his warriors unbattleworthy for when he needs them – to reclaim the his kingdom in the East.

***

Once the festivities of the Winter Fest had begun the deep halls of the mountain fortress of Khagal’abbad were buzzing with excitement. Iklaladranamrâg was a joyous festival. During the dark days of winter it brought a warmth to his people who were enjoying the horn of plenty that was allowed them during these few days when normally food had to be rationed during winter to ensure it would last till spring returned to the land.

But Thorin is brooding. Time is slipping away from him and he still has not spoken with Kíli about the last night of the festival. In fact he is beginning to worry that his prince is avoiding him. Ever since their argument about Fíli the brunet seems to have purposefully avoided being alone with him. He surely cannot still be angry with him? Technically he had never told Fíli. The blond had asked him outright and he had simply not denied that he was courting his younger sibling. Yet he understood Kíli’s anger. He knew how close the brothers were and in hindsight he should have told Kíli as soon as they got back to Khagal’abbad. But Kíli never held grudges. He wore his heart on his sleeve which was evident enough by his vocal expressions of his disapprovals. And Thorin had thought the air between them to be cleared after their little quarrel.

Finally, he manages to corner the young prince as the two brothers return from their training with Dwalin. “Fíli,” he stops both of them in their tracks as they are about to enter their chambers, “may I speak with your brother in private for a moment.” Both know it is not a request, but an order and Fíli bows his head to Thorin, giving his brother a sidelong glance as he takes the wasters from him to return them to the weapon stores. “I will see you at dinner,” he says softly.

Kíli nods, feeling his heartrate increase under Thorin’s stare as he avoids those intense eyes, staring at the stone floor instead.

“Will you show me so little respect?” Thorin frowns at his lover’s behaviour.

 Kíli slowly raises his eyes. “Lu’, irak’adad. Zabad. Thorin,” Kíli searches for the right word with which now to address his uncle, his warlord … his lover, feeling so confused in all these feelings that rage through his adolescent body.

Thorin lets the frown drop and gives the young prince a gentle smile instead. “Follow me,” he orders Kíli towards the door of his own chambers and although Kíli gives him a worried look he obeys the order.

As soon as the door falls closed behind them Kíli dives for one of the chairs by the fireplace, keeping a safe distance. Thorin raises a surprised eyebrow at him; previously Kíli had taken every such opportunity to wrap his arms around him and press his lips against his. Now he appears to flee from him. And it hurts.

“Kíli, what is the matter?” he enquires carefully, taking the opposite seat. “Are you still angry with me?”

Kíli shakes his head but continues to stare hard at the floor once more.

“Then please tell me what is wrong? Why do you shrink away from me?” The statement is reinforced as he reaches out towards Kíli’s knee but the prince jerks his leg away. Thorin sighs deeply. “Have I done something wrong? Did I … did you not like what we did the last time you were in my bed?”

This time Kíli looks up, tears brimming in his eyes. All of a sudden he blurts out, “Forgive me, Thorin, we cannot be together.”

The older dwarf feels like he has been stabbed in the heart. That was not at all what he was expecting. He has been a fool! He thought Kíli loved him but now he guesses it was just a crush all along. He must have misread all the signs, wanting to see them, wanting to believe them. _Balin was right all along!_

He swallows hard as all these thoughts race through his mind at high speed. “I see.” At least it resolves the conundrum of the Midwinter Festival ... “Then you had best go.”

He is about to get up and lick his wounds in private, when Kíli’s next statement stops him. “Y-you must find another mate who can serve you, as I cannot. I … I’m faulty.”

Thorin knits his eyebrows together. He looks at his nephew’s anguished face. “What are you talking about? Why are you  _faulty_?” Kíli turns a bright shade of red now and lowers his eyes again, but this time Thorin reaches over and forces his chin up. “Kíli, talk to me. What is bothering you? Why do you not think that you can serve me?”

“B-because….” Kíli stutters, “Fíli said … It’s never going to fit, Thorin! I am too small!”

Thorin blinks in confusion. What on earth is his nephew rambling on about? Kíli is in fact rather tall for a dwarf, the royal blood in him clearly running strong. “Too small? For what?”

“Fíli said you wanted to put your cock in me,” Kíli blurts out now. “But I know it won’t fit there, Thorin. I bring you shame,” he sniffs softly, mortified and ashamed, pulling his hair in front of his face to hide his embarrassment. “I am sorry,” he whispers.

Thorin’s eyes bulge. By his beard, this conversation has taken a rather unexpected and embarrassing turn! He silently curses his heir for his candidness. So he had wanted Fíli to tell his little brother about courting and bedsports, but not so as to frighten him off! “Kíli,” he says softly, clearing his throat as his own cheeks blush softly, “please do not worry. Firstly …” By Mahal, firstly what?! “Firstly, I will not do anything that you do not want to do also. Look at me, sweet prince.” Kíli carefully glances up at him, his tears close to spilling over. “I promise you that, my beautiful prince. If you don’t want me to … well … put my cock inside you,” a deep blush has crept up his neck and into his cheeks now, “then I will not. There are other things we can do, amrâlê. Things that we both enjoy. You have enjoyed what we have done so far, have you not?”

Kíli nods furiously, his big sad eyes staring deep into Thorin’s, looking for that reassurance that his uncle has always given him, no matter what was bothering him.

“Good. However …” He takes a deep breath before continuing, “You must know that you are not faulty. Your body … It is very flexible. Remember how you took my fingers? First one and then another?”

Again Kíli nods.

“First one felt uncomfortable, right? But when you relaxed enough you were able to take two fingers. And eventually, if you are relaxed and you want to, you could take something as big as a cock up there.” He laughs at himself inwardly, questioning his own words suddenly.  _Don’t pretend you know what you are talking about Thorin, son of Thrain, you have never had a cock up your arse either! Your heir is far more knowledgeable in this than you are!_

But Kíli’s red eyes are wide as he stares at his uncle was incredulity. “Really?”

Thorin nods, pushing the doubt way. After all he knows plenty of bucks who have shared their bedroom adventures loud enough for his ears to hear, not least Fundin’s sons. “Yes, my love. But only if you want to. We do not have to do that at all if you don’t.”

Kíli sighs in relief. Then he stands up and sits himself on Thorin’s lap, needing the warm embrace and kisses that he is given in reassurance. “Thank you, Thorin,” he smiles, twirling his braids between his fingers. “I am sorry.”

“You are a silly dwarfling,” Thorin scolds him gently. “Next time you worry about anything like that you come and talk to me, rather than avoid me. You promise me this?”

“Kun, Thorin.” And Kíli’s mouth finds his and they exchange a gentle kiss.

“I do need to talk to you about something else though,” Thorin sighs. Kíli has rested his head on his shoulder now, hands dug into his hair. “Has Fíli said anything about what happens at the end of the festival?”

Kíli shakes his head. He knows that for the last seven years he had been sent to his chambers after the ceremony in the Temple, when his brother had been allowed to return to the Great Hall with the other bucks and dams. On those nights Fíli had not returned to their chambers until the following day, but he had never spoken about what he had been up to. And Kíli had never questioned it before, just assuming that the adults carried on drinking until they passed out. But now that Thorin mentions it and after his new experiences and his recent conversation with his brother he is beginning to wonder.

Thorin takes a deep breath, wishing that Fíli had said the right things to Kíli and not all the wrong things. Although going by the conversation just now it is probably for the best that the blond had not yet mentioned these details to his brother. And so he says, “At the end of the festival, when the khazdîth are sent to their rooms, you are expected to select a mate,” Thorin says, stroking Kíli’s soft hair.

Kíli stirs against him, immediately understanding the gravity of this situation. “A mate? You mean to court?”

Thorin wiggles his moustache in thought. “Court …. Hm, yes, but only for the night. To lay with one another ...”

“You mean … I need to take a dwarf to my bed. To … to do  _that?!_ ”

Thorin takes his nephew’s face between his large hands to sooth him. “It is the custom of the festival to do so. To honour Mahal and the birth of our Fathers we are to spill the seed of life.”

“But…” Kíli whimpers. He is unsure which bit panics him more. The thought of being required to lay with another dwarf full stop after the conversation he and Thorin has just had or the fact that he cannot lay with another in breach of his commitment to his One. “You never have!” he realises first.

“No, I have not,” Thorin admits. “But only as the highest in rank have I been granted such an exception. And only because until now I have  _never_  been with another, not outside the festivals either.”

“Neither have I.”

Thorin frowns. “You have. We both have now. You have been touched by me, Kíli, and you have touched me. Mahal made us mahdulyasâth and he will expect us to honour him such.” He feels the gentle shudder on him. “Do not worry, Kíli, you know there are other ways we can make this sacrifice together.”

“But …”

“I know, my sweet prince. We can’t. We cannot openly choose each other. And therefore you will receive many offers on the night, of that I am sure. During the Night of the Awakening any uncommitted dwarf who under our laws is allowed to court you may make you an offer, even if they are of lower standing. It will still be your call to accept.”

“So I can reject them,” Kíli states simply.

But Thorin shakes his head. “You can reject them yes, but not all. It would be frowned upon and seen as an insult to Mahal. You will have to accept one offer or make an offer yourself. And it cannot be me.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Kíli sits himself back up, panic rising in his voice. “I cannot do the right thing! I cannot lie with anyone other than you, Thorin! I do not want to and Mahal will not allow it!”

“Hush, little one,” Thorin soothes, pulling his prince in close, stroking his back. “I know. So listen carefully, as this is what we’ll have to do…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iklaladranamrâg - cold time feast (Winter Fest)  
> 'afdush - Dark Moon, the 2nd month of the dwarven lunar calendar (Nov-Dec time)  
> 'afiglêb - Speaking moon, the 3rd month of the dwarven lunar calendar (Dec-Jan time)  
> Kehnar - high priest (augmentative form of ukhan). NB. this root does not exist in the original works of the Dwarrow Scholar. I have based the KHN root on Kohen, which is the Jewish title for priest  
> Idmi ni Zaharu Mahal - Welcome in the House of Mahal  
> mahdulyusth-hu - his soulmate  
> Kun, akhminizu - Yes, thank you  
> Lagân - Valar (gods)  
> amrâlê - my love  
> khazdîth - dwarflings (dwarves under the age of 40)  
> mahdulyasâth - soulmates


	14. Night of the Awakening

The noise in the Great Hall is almost deafening and it is a miracle indeed that any dwarf can understand the attempts at wooing being aimed at him or her. Thorin eyes the spectacle with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Normally at this final stage of the festival he would have slipped away to the quiet of his chambers to contemplate the subjects of his own devotion – the treasure hoard of Thror, the Arkenstone, the lost Kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. But tonight, for the first time since he reached the age of maturity, a dwarf is the one to draw his eye.

As Dwalin hands him another jug of the rich autumn ale Thorin continues to watch Kíli carefully. The youngest prince of Durin is getting plenty of offers as expected, from bucks and dams alike. Many will be taken in by his handsome looks, others undoubtedly by the honour of his lineage. But either way seeing those dwarrow flirt so openly with his One is making Thorin’s skin crawl and his mind clouds with wanting to run his sword through the next person who dares lay their eyes on his beloved. He knows he is torturing himself. Dwalin has said he did not need to be here, it was probably better if he upheld his old routine and simply remained absent from the party altogether. But he cannot help himself. The thought of others charming his prince behind his back is even worse than this. And deep in his heart he knows why is he sat here trying to pulverise the iron mug in his hands; to ensure that Kíli is not tempted by any of those offers. To remind the brunet prince that he is here, waiting for him, his soulmate.

So he watches as Kíli gracefully declines each offer as they had agreed, leaving some broken hearts in his wake whilst others just as easily move onto their next possible mate.  At the end of the night each would have found their partner, some more than one if they so choose to. No-one is ever forgotten or left on the side-line.

Less than half an hour passes when Fíli accepts an offer from a red-haired dwarrowdam. Dwalin grins as the prince takes her hand and leads her down the hallway to his own bedchambers.

“He’s well loved,” Thorin observes.

“That he is,” Dwalin agrees, wondering for a split second if come the next festival he should make the handsome prince an offer himself, but dismissing the thought just as quickly. If Fíli does not reject him, Thorin will surely have his balls for it. Still, the second heir to the throne has matured into a very fine buck; that he cannot deny.

He downs his own mug and exchanges one last glance with Thorin to gain his permission to proceed with their plan. Thorin signs his _yes_ and watches his friend slowly rises from his seat and walk over to the brunet.

“Kíli Gofrinul,” he bows deeply before the prince and holds out to him the ceremonial dagger each carries on their belt for these occasions. “Would you consider my offer of courtship tonight?”

He draws some curious looks from the dams and bucks around them. Most of the offers have come from much younger dwarves, although a few of the older generation had tried their luck. But few had expected Thorin’s closest friend and personal guard to make a move on the king’s nephew.

Kíli pretends to consider him for a moment. Then he draws his own dagger, amidst a chorus of even more surprised gasps. He presses the rune-inscribed blade against that of the older warrior. “Dwalin Fundinul, I will accept your offer.”

Ignoring their curious unlookers Kíli and Dwalin both pull up their hoods – Kíli’s royal blue and Dwalin’s forest green – as agreed. Kíli nods to the warrior and then walks ahead with the other being the lower in rank following in his footsteps as they disappear towards Dwalin’s quarters.

***

As soon as they close the door behind them Kíli’s lips are pressed hungrily against his. He can taste the ale on his prince’s lips and he knows his lover is a little intoxicated. He pulls Kíli’s hood down and releases the clasp of his own dark green mantle, letting it drop to the floor.

He is fairly sure that they have gotten away with their subterfuge. He had left the Great Hall just as Dwalin had made his offer to Kíli which had drawn all attention to the two of them. Shortly thereafter they had met in one of the small storage chambers, where Thorin had taken Dwalin’s hooded cloak and had left with Kíli towards Dwalin’s chambers, grateful that they were more or less of the same height and build to pull off this masquerade. Dwalin had not even blinked when he had proposed the idea, had in fact suggested some of it himself. Thorin knew he could trust his best friend, but he had never expected him to be so supportive of his forbidden love for his nephew, especially after Balin’s dismissal of it. Then again the two brothers were often at odds about matters of the heart and mind. They had agreed that Dwalin would leave the storage chambers after a while and return to the Great Hall to find his own mate for the night. It could not be helped that Kíli’s reputation would be tainted by his tales that the young buck could not hold his ale and had not lasted long. Unfortunately it was still better than the truth. And Thorin hoped that it might put off further offers if others thought that the dark-hair prince was too inexperienced a lover still.

Now he pulls his lover in close as he dips into the heat of his mouth. His desire for Kíli tonight is overwhelming and for the first time in his life he feels that deep primal lust that drives his people to do what do they do on Zannu Abkân. It is like an inebriation, making his mind blurry and his body jittery. And as his arousal grows he knows he wants to do this with Kíli tonight. That he wants to shed his self-imposed abstinence and wants to know him as they are supposed to do as lovers. And he hopes silently that Kíli, despite his earlier concerns and reservations, feels the same.

He grins when Kíli’s hands slide under his tunic, his fingers teasing over his skin. “Thorin,” the young dwarf groans softly. “Can we … can we touch each other again?”

Thorin smiles at his lover’s eagerness, relieved that his fears seem all but forgotten. Kíli feels it too, this heavy want that hangs within the halls of their mountain home. Whether it is the ale or the expectation of the Feast or whether it is truly Mahal leading them on this path, he does not know. But it does not matter. It is here, pulsing and almost tangible.

With ease he scoops his slender prince into his arms, pressing needy kisses against his lips as he carries him towards Dwalin’s bed. These chambers are not as large or as grand as his own. But they are comfortable and private and once more he is grateful for his friend’s generosity to allow them to use his rooms tonight. He lays Kíli down onto the bed and starts to pulls off his tunic, revealing the soft youthful skin underneath, unmarred by battles of old, unlike his own scarred flesh. “You are so magnificent,” he whispers softly as he traces his rough fingers along his chest.

Kíli smiles shyly at him, his normally quick tongue suddenly lost for words as Thorin overwhelms him with praise. His fingers are tugging on Thorin’s sleeves as he shudders under his touch. His body is pulsing with want. Every cell seems to scream out for it. Want for his uncle; to feel him close and hot against his own body. “Thorin,” he whispers needily. His lover is taking his time as he brushes softly against his burning skin, but Kíli’s youthfulness is impatient. “Please. Want to feel you.”

Thorin nods and begins to remove his own tunic, unfastening the lacing before he pulls it over his head and drops it on the floor. Kíli gasps softly at the sight of his king’s chest bared before him. Every time he sees his uncle like this it is like a new experience, each more beautiful and arousing than the last. A sight that no-one else gets to see, a map of his lover’s hard life drawn in the fine lines of battlemarks and inked symbols alike. He reaches out to trace the faded tattoo on his upper arm, each line so familiar and yet still he admires it anew. “Sakrigi e,” he whispers in awe.

Slowly Thorin moves himself on top of him, wrapping him close in his arms as their tongues begin the slide over one another, teasing, tasting. Kíli is eagerly probing into his mouth, twirling his tongue around in the wet heat and he can feel Kíli’s arousal press up against him, groaning softly at the sensation as heat rises up between them. For a moment he feels fearful. He has never felt this desperate for anyone or anything other than to return to Azsâlul'abad before. And this desire is taking over his normally stoic control, making him feel helpless like a piece of gold melting in the furnace, unable to hold its shape, at the mercy of his Maker’s plans for him. But a look into the big brown eyes underneath him, glistening with love and equal want, makes him surrender to the feeling, to let go of his need for control for one night. _Let your heart guide you._

He rolls himself onto his side and begins to unlace his boots, kicking them off. Kíli follows his example before he yanks at the laces of his breeches. “Need to feel you,” the brunet prince groans again huskily inbetween their renewed kisses.

And Thorin takes his hand and slides it down the fabric of his breeches, moaning deeply as Kíli’s fingers wrap around his aching hardness. More. He wants more. He wants to melt into Kíli’s very being, be truly one with him. His own hand is impatiently starting to pull down Kíli’s lower garment, revealing his beautifully erect sex before him, drinking in his heat. The prince gasps as Thorin’s hand slides around it in turn and Thorin feels the heat radiate through the thin skin.

“So soft and yet so hard,” the older dwarf groans softly. “You are such a delight.”

Kíli is grabbing hard at him, massaging his length inside his breeches. There is too much restraint and Thorin lets go of his lover’s pleasure and fights himself out of his remaining clothes. When he turns back Kíli too has removed his breeches from around his ankles, and a moment later they are lying naked against each other, burning skin against burning skin, kissing and nipping and licking and biting as lust takes over completely.

Finally Thorin rolls himself onto his back and closes his eyes as Kíli starts to kiss him all over, letting the younger prince touch him everywhere. It takes him a great deal of trust and swallowing of his pride to surrender himself so completely to someone as he cannot control the sounds escaping his lips.  But this is mahdulyusth-hu. His One. His Blessing.

“Does this feel nice, Thorin?” Kíli asks as his mouth feels its way down his uncle’s chest. Suddenly all his fears have evaporated, replaced by this intense need to do this and more. His body seems to know instinctively what to do now and little pleasurable shudders run through him each time Thorin groans under his touch. 

“Kun, amrâlê,” Thorin sighs, dragging his large hands through Kíli’s brown locks. “Very good.” He still wants more. He wants this to be the night that they make love to each other for the first time. But this time when he brushes his thick finger tentatively between Kíli’s soft cheeks the young prince freezes instantly.

Tears spring to the brunet’s eyes. He had felt so sure that he could do this, that he would be brave and honourable and let Thorin take him. All the touches and kisses had felt so good and had made him so hard that he was convinced that he was going to be just fine with what he knew was to come. But somehow his body just cannot help lock itself up at that sudden touch, not now he knows what it will lead to.

His first reaction is to get up and flee in shame. He _has_ failed Thorin, like he said he would. After all the trouble his uncle had gone through to make this possible he is totally freaking out and has ruined it.

He pants in panic as he scrambles away, but Thorin grabs hold of his arms, sussing him. “Kíli,” he whispers, soft but urgently. “Kíli, please do not run off. I am sorry. I thought you were ready … I should not have.”

“No, no, it is I who should be sorry,” Kíli whimpers, shaking now. “I … I don’t know why … I want to … But … I …”

“Sssh, it is alright.” Thorin pulls his young lover against him again, rocking him softly. “We can do what we did before. That felt good, right?”

Kíli nods, but tears are rolling from his eyes regardless. He feels useless, unworthy. Fíli has been able to do it so why can’t he?! But no, his brother had not done this either. Had never accepted a buck inside of himself. He cannot stop shaking now, unsure whether it is from anxiety or frustration.

Thorin feels frustrated too. He will not force himself on Kíli but he cannot help the deep disappointment he now feels. He had waited for well over a century for this special night and now it appears it will not happen tonight.

Then a thought enters his mind. Why he had not considered it before he does not know. Perhaps because there is this silent expectation from others, that since he is the uncrowned king he would be the leading one, the dominant one. Perhaps it is an expectation from within himself, that as Kíli’s elder that he should be the one to take him. “Kíli,” his voice breaks and he coughs . “Kíli,” he tries again. “Would you … What we did the last time when we were together … Would you like to do that to me?” Kíli looks up, blinking away his tears, his beautiful almond eyes sparkling in the candle light. There is still a hint of trepidation in them. But Thorin can also see the yearning in there. “I would like you to,” he adds in encouragement. “I will guide you.”

Kíli nods and then takes Thorin into a deep kiss as his hand slides down to stroke his now soft prick again, grateful that Thorin is neither pushing him to do it or sending him away in anger. “Yes, I would like that too,” he smiles. “It felt really good what you did.”

Thorin kisses him softly and then gets up and fumbles around. Dwalin had thought of everything, Thorin smirks, as he had told him he had left some flacons of oil on the top shelf of his bedside cabinet. He had blushed heavily when his friend had told him – the implied suggestion being all but subtle – but he had accepted the offer nonetheless. And he takes one of the little ornate bottles out of the cabinet and hands it to Kíli. “Just ehm … slick your fingers,” he stutters, a little embarrassed. “And … me.”

The slight blush in Kíli’s cheeks makes him look even more attractive. He takes the little flacon and pops the cork, smiling a shy smile at Thorin as he pours some oil into the palm of his hand. Thorin watches him with anticipation. He is nervous and yet almost desperate. He has waited so long to be touched there by someone. By Kíli.

As his prince’s unpractised fingers slide over his sack he shivers. He pulls his legs up and lets them fall open. He feels vulnerable, exposed, and has to resist the urge to close himself back up again. But Kíli’s fingers are already there and as his one hand reverently strokes the inside of his thigh, helping him relax, the other runs down his perineum towards the folds of his entrance. Another shiver runs through his body and across his spine at the first touch of Kíli’s gentle fingers, unsure over the sensitive skin.

Kíli marvels at his lover’s body. At the king’s submissive pose before him. Thorin’s cock lies heavy against his belly, thick with arousal and trembling in anticipation. Kíli’s hand strokes over the hard shaft again, gently running his hand along its length, drawing a heated hiss from Thorin’s lips. As he does so, the index finger of his other hand starts to circle the puckered skin between Thorin’s cheeks.

Kíli stares at his own hand in amazement. He is touching Thorin, touching his most intimate place, and it feels enormous and yet so perfectly natural. That soft rumpled skin that flutters under his pads, the even more delightful whimpers his uncle makes now. “Does – does it feel nice how I do it?” he asks unsurely.

“Yes, Kíli,” Thorin whispers back. “So very good.” He raises his hips a little. He needs to feel Kíli everywhere. Inside! “Please” he begs needily.

Kíli carefully presses his finger against the centre of that deep pink ring. He is stunned by how easy he is able to push inside and even more at soft furnace that lies behind that ring of muscles. Thorin’s groans rumble deep through his chest at the intrusion. “Oh, my sweet beautiful Kíli,” he pants as the prince gently twists his finger inside him. It feels so good. So much better than he had expected.

“You are so hot,” Kíli whispers as he admires his own finger probing into his uncle’s heat. The sight is sending electricity through his body and as his hand leaves Thorin’s cock to touch himself, he can feels the wetness coating his tip. He gently feels around, stroking the tip of his finger along Thorin’s soft walls. And as his uncle relaxes into the sensation he starts to slowly press in with his middle finger. “Is that alright still, irak’adad?” Kíli whispers.

Thorin shudders as Kíli calls him by the title of his relation to him, reminding him for a moment of how what they are doing is so wrong and forbidden. But he pushes the thought away. It is too late for those concerns now. He has made up his mind and accepted Mahal’s gift. “Kun, ‘ibinê,” he groans softly as the second finger stretches him wider. It makes for an odd sensation. A fine balance between a slight discomfort and intense pleasure. Until Kíli curves his fingers in exactly the right place and pleasure drowns out anything else. “Mahal Lagnul!” he cries out.

Kíli grins widely at that. He remembers all too well when Thorin had touched him there. How he had thought the sky was going to crash down on him so overwhelming was the pleasure. And Thorin is wriggling and bucking under him as he continues to put pressure on this soft little nub of nerves inside him.

“Oh Kee, too much!” Thorin whimpers, not knowing what to do with himself as his nerve endings are stimulated like never before.

“Touch yourself,” his prince smiles. “It will feel good.”

Thorin is torn. He wants to, but also he does not want to give in to it so quickly. Yet the pleasure is too great and even if he does not touch himself he feels Kíli will push him over the edge with his teasing hand anyway. “No,” he growls softly, stilling Kíli’s hand. “Not yet.” Kíli pulls a sad little face, like he used to when his uncle had told him he could have no more sweets before bedtime. He starts to pull his fingers back, but Thorin holds him in place. “Another,” he whispers, his voice thick and low with arousal. “Another finger, Kíli. I want you to prepare me.”

Kíli’s eyes grow wide, his pupils almost obscuring the irises. “Prepare _you?_ You mean…?”

Thorin nods. “Please take me tonight, Kíli. I … I want you to.”

Kíli’s breath hitches. When Fíli had told him about having sex, what it really meant, he had automatically assumed that it would mean Thorin sheathing his sword inside of him. The idea that he could be the one wielding the weapon had not even entered his mind and even now he can barely digest the invitation. “M-me? You want me to go inside of y-you,” he stutters as the thought runs through his veins. Thorin’s body is grabbing at his fingers. Will he really fit inside that tight heat? What would that feel like on his prick?

“Yes,” Thorin flushes. “I want us to be one.”

The young prince nods. He carefully takes his fingers back, making Thorin hiss as he is emptied. He pours more oil into his hand, greasing up his fingers and Thorin’s entrance again until he is satisfied he has lubricated him enough. He takes three fingers and slowly drives them inside, listening to Thorin’s soft wails as he is stretched further. Ever so slowly he starts to twist his hand around, watching and feeling as Thorin’s body accepts the intrusion. It is true. When he had been almost too tight for two fingers just now, already he is able to accept three, stretching around his fingers at every move.

“Push in a little further,” Thorin moans, showing Kíli the motion he is after. As soon as the brunet starts to move he is groaning loudly at the pleasurable pressure it gives him. He takes himself in his hand and runs his thumb over the tip, spreading the viscous liquid over his cockhead. “G-good, Kíli,” he whimpers. “You are making me so hard. Are you nice and hard, my prince?”

“Yes,” Kíli hiccups. He moves himself so that he can lay his cock against Thorin’s thigh. “It hurts.”

Thorin pushes himself up a little to look at his lover. “Then take me, amalê.”

“You … Are you sure?” Kíli asks as he looks at that ring gripping his fingers. He wants to, but he is terrified and desperate for it all at once.

“Yes, my sweet beloved,” Thorin smiles and he reaches out for Kíli’s hand, seemingly to offer Kíli reassurance although the gesture is as much to sooth his nephew as himself. He too is apprehensive. When Dwalin had first been taken he had told Thorin all about it. And he had scared the then young prince off as much with his tales of hurt as Fíli had his brother. But Thorin is older now and he has suffered a great deal of pain in his long life. How bad can this be?

 _“_ _Aklafi targu ‘adadmêzu!”_  he cries out as Kíli presses his cock into his entrance, sending a sharp stab of a pain like no other through his nether regions.

“I-I am sorry!” Kíli whimpers in shock. He wants to pull back again immediately but Thorin’s bone crushing grip on his hand holds him in place.

“N-no,” Thorin swallows hard, his eyes squeezed shut. “Wait. Just … just give me … a moment.” He takes a deep breath, willing his body to relax into the feeling. It takes a few more breathes, but finally the pain subsides. “Alright,” he whispers to Kíli, releasing his vice like grip on the younger’s hand a little. “Move, my sweet prince. A little.”

Kíli carefully pushes in further, keeping his eyes locked onto Thorin’s which remain squeezed shut. But his uncle utters not another words as he pushes in deeper. Until suddenly he breaches Thorin’s barrier and his lover gasps as he enters him fully.

Thorin grabs Kíli and pulls him down onto him, kissing him hard.

“Are you … Am I …?”

“Yes. It’s alright, my treasure,” Thorin whispers against his lips. “It feels … good. For you?” He is not entirely sure yet, but it certainly feels more pleasurable than just a moment ago.

“You are  _so_  hot,” Kíli whimpers softly. “So tight.”

Thorin hums softly at that. He feels full, he feels stretched beyond limits, but being joined like this with Kíli, finally after all these years, is … perfect. “Mahmarulsu y’e,” he breathes into Kíli’s mouth, swiping his tongue over the swollen red lips.

Kíli slowly starts to roll his hips, drawing soft whimpers and hisses from Thorin at first as he drags himself back and forth inside the tight heat of his body, until the sounds become deeper grunts, more urgent and primal.

“Oh Kee,” Thorin groans as he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of his lover’s buttocks, pushing him down, deeper inside him now. “You feel amazing.” He can feel the clamminess of Kíli’s skin as the young prince is ousting heat like a forge. He is kneading his behind hard, drawing his blunt nails across the pink flesh. The alien feeling is overwhelming and suddenly he cannot get enough of it even despite that slight discomfort still.

“Thorin!” Kíli squeals as he is pulled deeper into Thorin’s body again. His whole body feels on fire and he can feel his balls draw up as the friction of his cock inside Thorin’s body is dragging him towards his peak. “I am …. so close!”

“Wait! Where are you going?!” Thorin frowns as his sweet love starts to pull back out of him and he holds him firmly in place.

Kíli whimpers urgently. “Thorin! G...going … to come!”

“Inside of me!” he orders, placing wet kisses against Kíli’s mouth.

Kíli widens his eyes at him. “I-inside y-you?” He barely feels conscious enough to have this debate but he does not want to insult his king by doing something that surely is not acceptable.

But Thorin breathes deep into his mouth. “Yes, my love. I want to feel your seed in me. Come.”

Kíli groans, too close now to even stop himself if he wanted to.

“That’s it, my boy,” Thorin grunts as Kíli increases his thrusts. “Make me yours, my beautiful prince. Mahal, yes!' He looks at Kíli’s handsome face contorted in concentration and complete lust, his eyes rolled back and his lashes fluttering frantically.

And Kíli moans softly then loudly and then just sighs deeply as he floats off on the wave of his climax, releasing himself deep inside Thorin’s warmth. Thorin continues to watch him, drinking in the beautiful picture of pleasure painted on Kíli’s face as he can feel him come inside him. His mouth open as he pants heavily through each pumping release of his seed, his eye squeezed shut. And Thorin feels every cell in his body tingle with love as he watches his dark-haired prince come undone until he sinks down into his embrace.

Thorin pulls him hard against his chest, stroking his back and his hair as he whispers words of love into his ears. “My Kíli. You amazing, sweet prince. My blessing, my life. Thank you so much.”

Kíli purrs softly against his chest. “Did you really like that?” he whispers softly.

“Yes,” Thorin replies eagerly. “So very much. Did you?”

Kíli nods, feeling dizzy from the heat that is still rushing through his body. He feels for Thorin’s hand and grabs hold of it tightly. “I am so glad it was you tonight,” he sighs.

“Me too.”

“You haven’t yet …” Kíli observes, feeling Thorin’s semi-hard cock between them.

“No, but that’s alright,” Thorin strokes him. “You have given me so much pleasure tonight. I can wait.” His own words surprise him. Technically he should release himself. But the contentment in his chest tells him all is well. That Mahal is pleased. He feels no need for his own orgasm anymore. Instead he enjoys the pulsing feeling between his buttocks as Kíli begins to slip from him. This has been fulfilment in itself; being completely focused on his joining with Kíli and being the subject of his pleasure.  _Akhminruki ast_ _û_ _, Zabadu abl_ _â_ _kul Dehar,_ he sends his thought into the atmosphere. And whether it is his imagination or not but he can feel a peaceful warmth spread through his veins as he softly hums his soulmate to sleep.

***

It is very early in the morning when Thorin presses a leaving kiss on his prince’s sleeping face. Kíli can stay here a little longer. It does not matter if anyone sees him leave Dwalin’s chambers. In fact it would be all the better for it, making it believable that he had slept with the great warrior, even if he had fallen asleep afterwards leaving Dwalin unsatisfied. Thorin grins to himself. He sure had not been left unsatisfied by the dark prince. Having Kíli make love to him had been the most wonderful experience, more than he could ever have dreamt or hoped for. Just the memory of it sends little electric pulses through him. He strokes Kíli’s soft hair one more time, whispering, “Amralizu,” in his ear, before he takes his leave. As he opens the door, his face hidden in the shadow of Dwalin’s cloak, he carefully glances around. But no-one is about. The mountain fortress will be filled with blissfully sleeping lovers this morning. And after having spent every year since his coming of age hiding himself away in his chambers during Zannu Abkân, he has finally joined in the delights of the festival. Of course he can tell no-one. It must remain known to all that he had upheld his celibacy for yet another year. All except his best friend.

***

He is awoken by a knock on the door. As he groggily opens his eyes he is confused for a moment as to where he is, lying in a strange bed in a strange room.

“Kíli,” Dwalin clears his throat. “You ehm … Sorry to wake you.”

Kíli flushes, pulling the blankets up closers against his body. “Dwalin! W-where is Thorin?”

“He has already returned to his rooms. No-one must know that it was him who slept here last night, remember.”

Kíli remembers now. Their little ruse to make the others believe that Dwalin had been the one to court Kíli on his first Zannu Abkân.

Dwalin is about to turn away, to leave the prince to get dressed in private. But he cannot help himself. “So did you two …?” he asks in his deep low voice. Kíli smiles, a blush glowing in his cheeks. It tells Dwalin enough of what he wants to know and he won’t embarrass the young Durin prince any further. “Good,” he grins and then leaves the room again.

***

Fíli is already dressed and alone in their chambers when Kíli returns.

“Well???” he asks eagerly as Kíli closes the bedroom door behind him. “Please tell me you have actually slept with him this time.”

“Why are you so eager to know, brother?” Kíli frowns. But then he grins widely.

“Mî targê, you did!!” Fíli cries out, pulling his brother into a hug. “So it fit after all?” he teases his little brother.

“Actually,” Kíli blushes heavily, “Thorin didn’t … I did.”

Fíli’s eyes bulge. “You fucked  _him_?!” he blurts out. He had not seen that one coming.

Kíli nods, beaming from ear to ear.

“Oh brother, tharkhkandith!” Fíli smiles. “You are full of surprises!”

Kíli looks like he is actually glowing. “It was amazing,” he smiles brightly. “Oh Fíli, he is just wonderful!”

“Look at you, you lovestruck maiden,” Fíli laughs but he beams too, happy that his little brother has had a good first time. “Now sit down and tell me all about it. I want to hear every dirty little detail!”

And Kíli takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to his older brother and begins to narrate the happenings of the night before.

***

Dwalin enters Thorin’s chamber grinning like a grizzly bear. “Well …?”

“Well what?” Thorin asks, not looking up from his paperwork.

Dwalin stomps over and slams his hands down hard onto Thorin’s desk. Thorin does not flinch and only slowly looks up, trying to keep a straight face. But as soon as he catches Dwalin’s ridiculous grins, his resolve breaks and he beams.

“Little bird told me y’had a good time last night.”

Thorin blushes. “I did. Thank you for enquiring.” He attempts to return his attention to his work, but Dwalin lowers himself until he is eye to eye with him.

“Oh come on, Thorin, don’t sit there smirking like a dog in heat and not say anything. Y’have got to give me something after all the trouble I went through to make it happen for ya!” He leans in a little closer, “As I understand it the king is no longer a blushing virgin?”

Thorin snorts. “I guess he is not.”

“Mihdi targzu! So Kíli did let you fuck him in the end?”

“He ehm … well …”

Dwalin narrows his eyes. “You did  _do_  it, didn’t you?”

“We did,” Thorin averts his eyes. “He did…” he whispers softly.

 Dwalin’s mouth falls open.  “Are ya saying …? Oh sweet Mahal, ye let him take ya! Ya wee swine!” He grabs Thorin head in both hands and crushes him against his skull.

“Alright, calm down,” Thorin says in an even tone, but inside he feels radiant.

“Did ya like it?” Dwalin probes, grinning. “Being on y’r back?”

Thorin blushes heavily. “It was …” He wants to say something eloquent, but he cannot find the words. “It was amazing,” he simply beams in the end.

“Mî targê, who’d have thought that the mighty Thorin Oakenshield likes it on his back!”

“Mahal, keep your voice down!” Thorin scolds him.

But Dwalin smirks brightly at him, not letting him off just yet. “And Kíli truly is a dark prince! Didn’t think he had it in him. Must take quite something to have ya submit like that!”

Thorin narrows his eyes. But then he stands up and pulls Dwalin into a rough embrace. “Thank you, my friend.”

Dwalin pats him hard on the back. Despite all the teasing – which he will be sure to keep up for a few more months to come – he is genuinely happy for Thorin. The dwarf prince has sacrificed so much for his people. And he deserves this happiness and pleasure. “Ya harmu, Thorin.”

Thorin nods and returns to his desk. “Was there anything else?”

Dwalin shakes his head, his grin still splitting his face, but he lets it go before he pushes Thorin’s buttons too much. “No, zabadê, that was all.” And with a wink he turns on his heels, leaving the heir of Durin to smile at his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili Gofrinul / Dwalin Fundinul - Kili son of Gofrin /Dwalin son of Fundin. It is normal for dwarves' to be addressed with their patronymic name as well as their outer name, similar to a surname in our world.  
> Zannu Abkân - Night of the Awakening, the final night of Iklaladranamrâg  
> Sakrigi e - You honour me  
> Kun, amrâlê - Yes, my love  
> 'ibinê - my gem  
> Mahal Lagnul - Divine Mahal!  
> amalê - my pleasure  
> Aklafi targu ‘adadmêzu! - I curse your father's beard!  
> Mahmarulsu y’e - Make love with me.  
> Akhminruki astû, Zabadu ablâkul Dehar - Thank you, mighty Lord of the Anvil  
> Amralizu - I love you  
> tharkhkandith - little fox (lit. road-wolf)  
> Mî targê - by my beard  
> Mihdi targzu - Bless your beard!  
> Ya harmu - You're welcome


	15. Memories

Thorin has changed, Dwalin had noted. Kíli had changed him. Or rather maybe Kíli has rekindled something inside his uncle that had been buried so deep for so long that everyone, including Thorin himself, had forgotten it was even there. A spark. A contentment. A genuine smile that Dwalin now occasionally caught a glimpse of when he caught Thorin off guard.

He had known Thorin and Dís since they were dwarflings. Balin and he had grown up together with the three children of Thraín. Fundin, their father, had been one of king Thrór’s tactical advisors and Thraín’s best friend. Their living arrangements were unusual. Fundin and Laki were mahdulyasthân. It meant that not only were Balin and he full brothers, they had also lived with both their parents since birth, close to the royal quarters of King Thrór and his family.

Thraín had many mistresses, although there was one dam who was close to him as were she his blessing – the mother of both Thorin and Dís. She too lived in the royal quarters and yet Thraín never claimed her as mahdulyasthûnahu as he continued to court other bucks and dams as they took his interest. Only one other child was ever acknowledged as an heir to the throne, Thorin’s half-brother Frerin. But rumour was that there were other children who carried the blood of Durin and that bucks close to the royal house were offered enormous riches to claim false paternity over them. Dwalin smirks as he thinks about that in light of Thorin’s conundrum and he wonders how anyone can even be certain that they have never screwed too-close a blood relative. If it was anyone else no-one would likely even bat an eyelid. But then, that is the point. It isn’t anyone else, it is Thorin. And after the mistakes of his elders the heir to the throne is under close scrutiny to ensure that he does nothing to invoke the wrath of Mahal.

But in those days of wealth and power, the days before the fall of the Kingdom, no-one questioned the behaviour of the House of Durin for Thrór ruled with surety and iron fist. He kept both his courtiers and the Kehnar on his side with a mixture of respect and fear and a healthy dosage of keeping the right pockets filled. He was a shrewd politician and not afraid to make alliances as well as enemies whilst he ruled the greatest kingdom of Middle Earth for many decennia.

Thorin and Frerin took little to no interest in the political games of their elders in those days. They were khazdîth, not even old enough to wield an axe, let alone take part in the ruling of their kingdom. And so they spent their free time getting up to much mischief.

Dwalin was particularly close to Thorin as there were only a few months between them. Some days Dwalin thought of Thorin more as his brother than Balin as they were so similar in temperament. They were both the troublemakers of their respective families and at times it was hard to imagine that Thorin was the second in line to the throne and would one day take over his grandfather’s sceptre.

Of the two princes Frerin was the quiet one, the sensible and contemplative one. A quick learner and an excellent student, like Balin was. Like Fíli is. When Dís’ eldest had been born Dwalin had been struck by the boy’s resemblance to Frerin and he had guessed soon enough that the father was a relative on his uncle’s maternal side. The likeness had only been amplified over time as Fíli grew into a young lad, not just in looks but even more so in character. How he always cared for others; always put everyone else’s happiness and well-being before his own needs. And how he showed the same quiet admiration and devotion to Thorin as Frerin has once shown to his older brother.

Young Thorin on the other hand had been a restless and adventurous dwarfling, always eager to explore the world rather than read about it. So very much like Kíli . His royal tunics suffered much as he never hesitated to get them soiled with blood and mud, much to Thraín’s exasperation. He learnt to wield an axe and sword well before he was supposed and allowed to and most days came home with new cuts and bruises. Dwalin received as much punishment from Fundin for his own misbehaviour as he did for Thorin’s, as his father held him accountable for the crown prince’s well-being. But Dwalin suffered it gladly most days. Being with Thorin was fun, exciting, daring and one big adventure.

And then there was Dís. Now she was something special in her very own right. A dam, and yet growing up amidst bucks she learnt the trades of her male counterparts as she fought with her own brothers and the Fundin brothers like a wildcat. Dwalin had learnt not to mess with her from a very young age as despite her short frame, she was strong both in mind and body and took no crap from any of the boys. All four of them had been on the receiving end of her punishing hands, yanking their hair and twisting their ears. But she too had a mischievous streak in her and whereas Dwalin and Thorin were too brazen to hide their troublemakings, Dís was clever as a fox and somehow managed to get away with far more than the boys ever did.

Ah, such delightful memories. The halls of Azsâlul'abad in those days were ringing with the delightful noises of labour, Dwalin remembers it well. The smell of iron. The sound of the bellows blowing heat into the furnaces. And the joyous singing of those working to enrich the House of Durin. It had been good to grow up in the kingdom during those days of affluence. And all five of them did not have a care in the world.

When Balin came of age he made a point of teasing his younger, much taller brother and the young prince about the things he was now allowed to do. He told them about the weapon training he was enjoying, how he had learnt to forge his first sword and of also about his first amorous escapades. And Thorin and he had got himself very excited about the day that they would be required to complete the fire ritual and finally become bucks. And although they had never spoken about it out loud, Dwalin had always known that had life continued at its normal pace that they would have chosen on another on Zannu Abkân.

But that was the year that Smaug came …

Dwalin remembers it as if it were yesterday. The rumbling noise that had hit Basnbizar at the foot of Azsâlul'abad like an avalanche. Thorin’s anguished warning cry as he and his foot patrol came charging across the plains towards the stone bridge. They had been amongst the first to spot the threat as the fire-breather soared over the surrounding forest towards its goal, laying to ashes all in its wake. But the warning was too little and too late and by the time they had reached the gates the serpent had already breached it.

He can still feel the searing heat that followed when he closes his eyes. He had been on the ramparts when he had Thorin’s call. A moment later the sheer force of the wind from the beasts’ wings had knocked him and his comrades to the ground. And once he had managed to scramble to his feet and rush inside the halls they were already filled with an acrid smoke and the screams of the dwarrow trapped inside as the dragon spewed its fire through the tunnels.

As he had rushed down the stairs he had almost run straight into Thorin and Balin. And the three of them stood side by side, frozen in place as they watched the horror unfold before their eyes. Their swords and axes drawn looked like toys in their hands compared to the gigantic dragon that prowled through their beautiful home. And the realisation hit the three young dwarrow hard – that there was nothing they could do but flee.

At that moment Dwalin has seen the change in Thorin happen before his very eyes. It was as if the young prince shed his youth there and then and took on his destiny as he started to issue out commands. To lead people out of the mountain and to safety. To give up the fight that was already lost and to simply try and save as many of his people as he possibly could.

Dwalin and Balin obeyed their friend without question. At that moment he had become much more than that – their leader, their saviour and their future king as they guided dwarves to safety.

His heart had stopped the moment that he saw his best friend run deeper into the mountain.

“Thorin! Come back!”

“Frerin and Dís!” the young prince simply shouted back, not slowing down as he clambered over the pieces of their broken home. “I must save them. Go back! Help the others!”

“No!” He had spent a lifetime being told that he was to look after Thorin and that day was the day it actually mattered. He swore he would not leave his side, not then not ever. And so he had followed the prince into the inferno.

In the chaos that reigned around them dwarrow were being trampled, crushed, as they fell over one another to get to safety, away from the dragon that Dwalin watched snatch an entire battalion into its terrible jaws and swallow down whole. But Thorin showed no fear. At the age of only thirty-four, still six years short of maturity, he showed the heart of a true leader.

They found Thorin’s baby brother and sister as if by a miracle, unharmed and not even that far into the halls. They still had a chance to escape. Their path back thick with smoke. They would have to crawl back over bodies and break their skin on shards of rock. But they would live. And so when Thorin told Dwalin to take his siblings as he would go on and search for his parents and grandparents, Dwalin had told him under no circumstances would he let him go.

“Do as I say!” his friend had growled at him.

“They are lost,” Dwalin had snarled back. “Your people need a leader. They need _you_. I will not lose you too.”

Thorin might have argued if Smaug had not swept his horrific tail right through three thick stone pillars, sending the high ceiling crashing to the floor below and sealing off the way in and out of the mountain. They all stood nailed to the floor for a moment as the realisation that thousands of dwarrow were now buried alive inside that mountain and would serve as dragon food froze the blood in their veins. But they could do nothing but turn back and dig their way out of the rubble until they could breathe in fresh air once more.

Few escaped the desolation of Smaug. Their community of dams almost annihilated as their quarters lay so deep inside the mountain; what should have been their protection had become their doom. Laki and Thorin’s mother too did not make it out of the destruction of the fire serpent. But fewer still would have survived if it had not been for Thorin’s warning and quick action. Yet on that day the mischievous sparkle vanished from Thorin’s eyes for good.

How Thraín and Thrór did escape no-one knew and they never told. The Kehnar simply proclaimed that it was Mahal’s doing and that was the end of the matter.

They spent many months thereafter on the road, hungry and exhausted, their numbers depleted. Many were injured and yet more did not make it on their long journey all the way south of the woodlands, across the Great River and even further south through Kharbânzudnu until eventually they had settled in the hills of Hundzudnu. But life was difficult there. The losses still too raw in their minds the once cheerful folk of Durin had become solemn and bitter. Songs once sung about gold, food and ale were now about fire, destruction and death. And the formerly mischievous dwarf prince now watched his proud father and grandfather scrape together a meagre living as the anger and injustice that coiled inside them rotted their hearts.

Thrór could never reconcile himself with their fate and eventually he became so restless and so desperate that he left Hundzudnu to Thraín’s rule as he travelled north to find his people the home and wealth that they were due. They made it to the halls of the ancient kingdom of Khazad-dûm, but the king would never return from that journey. Dwalin recalls vividly the return of Nár, Thrór’s guard and only travel companion. How he had told Thraín of his father’s murder at the hands of the orc chieftain Azog. How the new King-in-Exile had wept and cut his beard in mourning whilst Thorin watched helplessly as hatred consumed his father. And on the seventh day of his grief Thraín had declared war on the orcs.

It signalled the biggest battle in his lifetime which would last for six whole years and would bring together thousands of dwarrow from across Middle Earth as they dug out the foul orcs. It was an event that would have an everlasting effect on all those who marched upon Khazad-dûm. Especially on the young dwarrow who had never wielded an axe in battle before.   

The old rituals and celebrations had long been ignored as they tried to rebuild their lives in exile. Neither Thorin’s nor Frerin’s nor Dwalin’s own coming of age had been properly celebrated as it had come during their time of wandering the wilds. And thus they and others had never been granted the honour of the fire ritual. Twenty nine years had passed since they had fled their rightful home. They were children no longer, but neither were they inaugurated as warriors. And so it came to be that Thraín ordered the priests that night to dig a wide pit in their mountain village. And the three of them as well as the other young bucks who had either missed out on their proper celebration or who were technically still too young but deemed old and fit enough to fight were given the fire blessing and pronounced adults. And the next day Thraín started his systematic assault on the orcish strongholds until only Khazad-dûm remained.

The dwarves prevailed. The orcs were defeated and Thrór was revenged when Daín slayed the pale orc Azog on the steps of Khazad-dûm. But their losses were vast and devastating. Their already depleted populous now on the brink of extinction as they were forced to burn their dead in great funeral pyres as their simply was not the time or resource to lay them to rest in the stone as was their custom. Only those of sufficient standing were granted that, including Fundin and Thorin’s little brother Frerin.

Thorin wept for his brother as his father had for Thrór. And like this father before him he cut his beard in mourning and swore not to let it grow back to its full length until he had returned his people to their rightful home in Azsâlul'abad. And Dwalin never saw him smile that bright smile of his again until many many years later on the day when he first held Dís’ firstborn in his arms.

After that Thorin had rapidly grown up far beyond his years. Thraín could not settle back in Hundzudnu again. He blamed himself for the loss of his son, of his best friend and so many other dwarrow. And in truth there was an air of quiet discontent that now hang in the air. A questioning of the sanity of the Royal House of Durin, over the decisions that Thrór and Thraín had made that had led to so many lives lost. Thraín eventually left Hundzudnu to find a way to reclaim Azsâlul'abad for his remaining son and daughter. But he never returned. And after almost a year of hoping and praying in vain, Thorin, with a heavy heart, had declared his father lost and had accepted his responsibility as the new leader of Durin’s folk.

The four of them, Thorin, Balin, Dís and he, had spent many days and nights debating their future. To stay there in the Hill Lands where there was nothing for their people was not an option. Neither was it to try and return to Azsâlul'abad, for many of the great warriors of the Longbeards had been killed and none of the other Clans, who also had suffered great casualties, would support another such high risk raid at that moment.

And so Thorin looked to the ancient dwarven kingdoms in the West. And he uprooted their people once more and led them to Khagal’abbad where he rebuild a safe home for his people among the ruins of Gabilgathol.

But whilst his people had settled and the communities had begun to thrive again under his rule, Thorin had continued to be plagued by the darkness and losses of the past. By the silent blame that had been laid at the foot of his family. And whereas to Dwalin and his brother and others of their generation Azsâlul'abad became a memory from long ago, for Thorin it became an obsession. He lived and breathed it and Dwalin was getting increasingly concerned that his friend was living in the past rather than the present. He had tried to pull him out of it many times. But Thorin had become a martyr of his own burden, denying himself any form of pleasure whilst they remained in exile. Even the birth of his nephews, which had been the most wonderful thing to happen to Thorin for a very long time, had only brought so much relief of his brooding mood. But at least Fíli and Kíli had brought a smile back to his face.

And then Kíli had come of age and everything had changed. For the first time in over one hundred years Thorin’s heart appeared to be sparkling like a gemstone again. And it was a wondrous sight to see the clouds lift and the sun reappear in the uncrowned king’s features.

_How can Balin not see that?_

He and his older brother are arguing loudly after Zannu Abkân. Everyone appeared to have bought into the decoy of Dwalin making an offer to the newly-of-age dwarf prince. Everyone except Balin. He knew them both far too well. And the next day he raises his chin up at his taller brother and prods his finger in his chest. “I am no fool!” he had growls at Dwalin. “You did not court Kíli last night.”

Dwalin shrugs. It is none of Balin’s business what he had or had not done. He did not ask his brother about his Winterfest courtship and Balin had no right to ask about his. “What is it to you?” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “What is your issue with them anyway?”

Balin narrows his eyes further underneath his big bushy eyebrows which are now almost white. “Is is forbidden! It does not matter what you or I think of it, you thick-skulled idiot! If they are found out ...”

“Then we must make sure that they are not,” Dwalin puts a calm hand on his brother’s shoulder, stopping his hopping anger. “Come Balin, Thorin has suffered so much for all of us. I do not care whether Mahal gave his blessing or his disapproval. All I see is that for once he is happy. Can you not see that?”

Balin huffs. Yes, he can see that too. Thorin has changed a lot since he started this foolish behaviour. But, “I will not let him ruin himself. Thorin is better than that. I will not let him throw away everything he has done to clean the name of Durin. Not for any dwarf.”

Dwalin shakes his head. “So you will deny Thorin a little happiness because of the failings of Thraín and Thrór? You compare him falling in love to Thrór’s goldlust that summoned the dragon or Thraín’s vengeance which nearly wiped our race off this earth?”

Balin gasps. Yes, he had implied it, but he had not said it out loud. And speaking such of the Kings of Durin was almost as blasphemous as cursing Mahal himself. “You’re encouraging him!” he hisses.

But Dwalin laughs loudly at that. “I hardly think so, nadad. I did not make them mahdulyasthân.”

“Don’t say that, you profane orc!” And with an angry shrug his older brother storms out of his rooms.

Dwalin sighs deeply. He knows there is no point trying to make his brother see sense. It is not that he himself denies Mahal, but Dwalin has his own views on how much their Great Maker involved himself in the daily lives of their people. In his mind the Zabadu Dehar surely had more important matters to concern himself with than whether Thorin was sleeping with his nephew or not. In which case all of Balin’s fretting was all just over how the other dwarves including the Council and the Priesthood might react. And Balin has a point there; it would not do Thorin well to give them any reason to question his sanity. But as far Dwalin is concerned what Thorin and Kíli do behind the closed doors of the royal chambers is no-one else’s business. And no-one needs to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mahdulyasthân - blessed husband and wife  
> mahdulyasthûnahu - his blessed wife  
> Basnbizar - Foot Dale (Dale)  
> Kharbânzudnu - Horsemen Land (Rohan)  
> Hundzudnu - Hill Land (Dunland)  
> Gabilgathol - Great Fortress (Belegost)  
> nadad - brother  
> Zabadu Dehar - Lord of the Anvil


	16. A Mother's Love

“Are you alright, nadad?” Dís asks as Thorin walks into the dining hall. “You look weary.”

Thorin nods and takes his seat at the head of the table. “Where is Fíli?”

“Getting ready. I am sure he will get here soon. Is something wrong?” She lays her hand over his arm and looks into her brother’s grey blue eyes.

Thorin takes a deep breath. “There is something I need to talk to you about, namad.”

“Alright. What is bothering you?” she frowns at Thorin in concern.

At that moment the blond prince appears in the doorway. “Apologies, Thorin, ‘amad, if I kept you waiting,” he says as he seats himself next to him, opposite his mother.

“Not at all,” Thorin smiles at him and then says to Dís, “We will talk after dinner.”

Fíli glances from his uncle to his mother, wondering what Thorin wants to talk about that he may not be part of. But he wisely holds his tongue. They have dinner in relative silence. With Kíli being on his first patrol of their borders with some of the more seasoned warriors, his usual chatter has been absent for the last three nights and Fíli feels a little lost without his brother sat at his side.

“Did Fíli tell you about the sword he forged today?” Thorin finally asks his sister. “He has a remarkable skill,” he continues, watching Fíli beam in the corner of his eye. “Already he is far ahead of the other apprentices. I believe that he will be running the smithy soon. We already have customers asking for him especially,” he says proudly, chewing the salty lamb.

“That is wonderful, Fíli,” Dís smiled brightly. “You are doing your uncle and me proud.”

Working in the towns of men was something that Thorin never got used to. No matter how many decades passed, it reminded him every day again of how far removed he was still from restoring his honour. And despite his words of praise, seeing Fíli work in the blacksmith’s possibly hurt him even more. Fíli had never enjoyed his birth right. True, in Khagal’abbad he was treated as a prince. But in the villages of men he was seen as just a labourer for hire. And it pained Thorin more than anything. He wanted to shout from the rooftops that his beloved nephew was a prince of Durin and deserved to be treated with due respect. But they needed the money and therefore they needed the custom. They had come here with nothing and it would take centuries to attain the wealth that the Longbeards had enjoyed in Azsâlul'abad.

He should not be so hard on himself, both Dwalin and Dís had told him enough times. He had done well by his people, Balin frequently reminded him, giving them a safe home in these dwarvish lands. They were not rich, but they got by and his population had steadily grown and prospered. But he simply could not shake this feeling that he had failed them.

“And you? How fared your day?” he asks his sister.

“Tari has had a girl,” Dís says proudly. “Kaminzabdûna favours your people, Thorin, and has already given us many blessings this year.” All dwarf babies were welcomed as the most precious gift, but to have had three baby girls born already since Durin’s day was exceptionally good news indeed. 

“That she has,” Thorin nods, smiling brighter than she has seen him smile for a long time. And for a moment Dís wonder if there is something her brother is not telling her. But she lets it pass. “The food stores are looking good,” she carries on giving him an update on her checks of that day. “You need not worry, brother, you and Kíli have provided well for us this winter.”

“He is a fine huntsman,” Thorin smiles again, taking a sip of his ale. “Both your boys bring me much pride and happiness,” he throws Fíli a sideway glance. “When Mahal calls me to feast in his Halls I shall rejoice in the knowledge that my people are in good hands.” He pats Fíli briefly on the shoulder.

“Do not say that, irak’adad,” Fíli frowns. “Mahal has many more plans for you in this life still.” _Forbid that anything were to happen to him, there is no way I am ready to step into his footsteps!_ he thinks a little anxious.

“Indeed,” Dís agrees. “You are still in your prime, nadad. Do not speak of parting from us but instead enjoy the peace that you have brought to our people.”

Thorin snorts softly. And he wonders if she has already guessed what he had been about to tell her.

“I wish Kíli was here,” Fíli thinks out loud, before quickly lowering his eyes to his food. It was thoughtless of him to remind Thorin of his absence and he regrets sounding so childish in any case.

But Dís just laughs. “Kíli has only been gone for three days and will be back tomorrow. You are both fretting more over him than I am! He does not need you two babysitting him all the time.”

Fíli laughs too, “Honestly mother, you know Kíli can get himself in trouble in any situation. He is a master at it!”

“He’s a buck now,” Dís protests. “He has not got himself in any trouble recently. In fact he seems remarkably well behaved at the moment. I know it is not my place, but it seems to me that his coming of age has truly changed him. He appears to be really making the effort.” She smiles brightly. “Perhaps he is trying to impress someone?” she chatters away happily, oblivious to Thorin’s shock.

Thorin and Fíli exchange a brief and awkward glance and they both feel a blush creep into their cheeks.

“Oh, I know you must not tell me,” Dís chuckles. “I am just being a nosy dam and I will hold my tongue now. All I am saying is that it is nice to see him work so hard. You surely must have noticed it too, Thorin?”

Thorin coughs, “Sure,” and quickly fills his mouth as he throws Fíli a warning look telling him to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Fíli does his best to chatter happily about his sparring with one of the stronger young bucks and how he had outwitted the lad and how Dwalin had been proud of him. But the atmosphere is awkward now and Fíli excuses himself as soon as he has finished, dashing towards the safety of his rooms.

When the servants have cleared away their plates, Thorin and Dís light their pipes and move towards the more comfortable chairs in front of the large fireplace.

“So what is it you wanted to talk to me about, nadad?” Dís enquires.

The thought had entered his mind after Iklaladranamrâg. One that he had never thought possible before. He would have laughed and scolded anyone who would have suggested it to him. Yet right now he is actually contemplating whether he should give up on Azsâlul'abad and permanently establish Zibdîn Durinul right here in the ruins of Gabilgathol.

Dís stares at him with big eyes. “Give up on Azsâlul'abad?” she repeats Thorin’s statement. She looks at her brother as if he has lost his mind. The Mountain had been his obsession from the day the dragon came. It pulsed through his very being as it had done with their father and grandfather. Everything Thorin had done had been with a view to one day return to the Lonely Mountain and reclaim the Zebdar'egam, the Throne of the Highking. And yet tonight he casually declares that he has changed his mind and they might as well stay where they are?

She shakes her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. What has brought this on?”

Thorin looks back at her, trying to keep his stoic composure. For a moment he considers telling his sister. He wants to. He needs to. But he cannot do so, not without Kíli here. He had already betrayed him by telling Fíli without him knowingAnd so he simple answers, “Our people have been homeless for too long. These are dwarvish lands. They have started to settle, build their homes here. Many years have passed and I am not getting any younger, Dís. I realise I may never be able to return our people to Azsâlul'abad. That pursuing that dream may be futile and not in the best interest of my people. Perhaps staying here is the best option for all.”

Dís narrows her eyes at him. She can sense he is not telling her the whole truth. There must be something else. Her brother does not change his mind that dramatically overnight without a cause. No dwarf does. Their people are slow to adapt, slow to accept change and even more reluctant to give up on what they believe is right.

But Thorin says no more and just stares into the fire as he continues to draw on his pipe.

“I am surprised, nadad,” she says quietly after a while. “But perhaps you are right. Perhaps the time has come that we accept the past and look to a new future.” She is not sure yet how she feels about this sudden change of perspective. That Thorin would one day lead them back to Azsâlul'abad was like a fact, as certain as that the sun would raise in the sky each day. She had never questioned it, never doubted that he would, even after the years that has passed. To not even try …

But he is right. They are happy here, they are safe here. Her boys can grow up in peace. Their people can replenish their numbers and maybe one day rebuild here a kingdom that equals the greatness of king Thrór under her brother’s guidance.

Thorin nods slowly. He feels relieved to have told his sister. Even if he has not been wholly honest with her.

Truth is that even if he forsakes his Uzbadkalmu Barraf Hadud and just rules Durin’s folk in the Blue Mountains as he has done for so many years Kíli and he can never openly be together. However, they could travel freely together and visit each other’s chambers every so often. It would never be as he would want it to be – to have Kíli at his side as his soulmate and consort for all to see – but they could be happy somehow.

But if he reclaims Azsâlul'abad…

He sinks deeper against the back of his chair as he stares hard into the fire. If he reclaims Azsâlul'abad he will be expected to produce an heir. Should anything happen to him before then Fíli will be the next in line. But if by some miracle they all survived and slayed the dragon and took Azsâlul'abad back, then he would no longer be able to uphold his apparent celibacy status as he had done all these years in exile. There will be pressure from the other Barafzabbad to like his father and his grandfather lie with the highest ranking dams to continue the line of Durin and create blood ties with he other Houses. And he cannot do that. He cannot and will not lay with another and break his sacred binding with Kíli, not now that that have consummated Mahal’s blessing. And so staying in Khagal’abbad, even if it goes everything he has always believed in, seems the only option.

***

When he is back in his chambers later that evening he sighs deeply as he picks up the scrolls in front of him. Not so long ago those very pieces of parchment were still everything to him. He had studied every rune, every drawing for so long that in reality he did not need to look at them ever again and he would be able to redraw them from memory. He also knew there was nothing new in the few design plans of Azsâlul'abad that his people had managed to rescue that could reveal a solution to him of how to enter the mountain kingdom and reclaim their homeland. There was only one way into the mountain and that entrance had been turned into a pile of rubble by Smaug. It would take months to clear the rock and marble and undoubtedly such an excavation would draw the monster’s attention. There was no way. Nonetheless once upon a time no-one would have been able to interrupt those ponderings as he once more delved into every possibility to take back his birth right. Yet now, for the first time since that day of fire and death there is different thought that overpowers all others - Kíli.

He rolls up the scrolls to have the scribe take them to the library later. Tomorrow he will talk to the Council about his decision. He knows they will all be as surprised as his sister had been. And he will have to be careful how he sells it to them. But he also thinks there will be many who will be relieved to find that Thorin will allow them to settle down. He knows his people are weary of their nomadic life. And the Blue Mountains have been their home for a long time now. The new generation, including his own nephews, have been born and have grown up here and this is the only home they know. And as the years have passed more and more of the older generation have also expressed an ever growing reluctance to travel across halfway the world for a home long lost and that they are unlikely to ever claim back. For what? For a fortress destroyed and burnt to the ground? For the gold hoard that lies under the feet of Smaug? For Thorin’s desire to reunite the dwarven clans under his rule? Is it really worth risking their lives for? They had all suffered enough losses under the rule of Thrór and Thraín. Thorin is all too aware that he will have a job on his hands to convince anyone to follow him into danger now. Many just want to continue to live their simple lives here and raise their sons and daughters in safety. And Thorin knows that the hardest person to convince of this plan to give up on Azsâlul'abad remains himself.

He jumps up from his thoughts as his door opens.

“Kíli,” he smiles. The moment his nephew’s dark hair bounces into view Thorin feels a warmth radiate through every cell in his body. This has been the first time his nephew has been away from Khagal’abbad without him and could not help worrying about him. But here he is, looking happy and gorgeous.

“Thorin!” Kíli exclaims as he runs over and flies into his arms, almost toppling over his chair.

It takes Thorin a moment to pry him lose. “Kíli ! The door!” He pushes the brunet off him and sprints towards the open door, slamming it shut.

As he turns around, Kíli is sprawled across his chair, looking mischievous as always. “Did you miss me?” he purss.

But Thorin scowls. “Do not be foolish, Kíli . You know we must not be seen.”

His lover pouts. “I missed _you_ ,” he says sadly.

Thorin sighs deeply and he walks over to him. “I missed you too, my sweet prince. But we cannot be reckless about this.”

Kíli is still grinning cheekily at him as he cocks his head. “ _How much did_  you miss me?” he asks huskily as he raises himself up and wraps his arms around Thorin, trying to seek his lips.

But Thorin backs away. “Kíli! If you will not listen to me, then we will not be doing this. Do you have any idea what would happen if we were caught doing this?” He silently curses those beautiful brown eyes staring back at him, looking so innocent and yet being so far from it.

“Yes,” Kíli  sighs, sounding more bored than anything else as he repeats the lecture that Balin has given him over and over again for the last month or so. “If we are caught we will be sentenced, either as criminals or sinners or both.”

Thorin narrows his eyes at his much younger lover. “Do you have even the faintest idea how serious our crime would be perceived? That we could be executed for this?”

Kíli stares back at him, but does not retort. He wants to argue but what is the point? Thorin is not the one who needs convincing of their right to be together. Although … “Why can you not change the law? You are the heir to the throne!” he challenges.

Thorin pulls Kíli close to him. “Oh Kíli, don’t you think I would if I could?” He strokes through his lover’s soft hair and places a kiss on his head. “But I cannot. Our laws have been passed down since the days of Father Durin. They cannot be changed by any living soul.” That is what his grandfather had taught him. That is what his old teacher had taught him. “And I have no influence at all over the Priesthood; they answer to no-one but Mahal.”

Kíli opens his mouth to say something, but Thorin catches him in a soft kiss. “Do not say it, amrâlê. I know what you were going to say, but unless Mahal choses to speak to Gorm Himself, then we are voiceless. We must trust in Him and His guidance.” He strokes his thumb across Kíli’s soft lips. “Can you do that? Will you promise me that you will be more careful?”

Kíli nods, grinning. “Now can I have a kiss?”

Thorin sighs and rolls his eyes as his lecture seems to have gone mostly over Kíli’s head, but nonetheless gives in to the request as he presses his lips against Kíli’s. It is good to feel him again and he closes his eyes as he lets himself sink into the wonderful feeling for just a moment, before he releases his prince and walks back to his chair, straightening his tunic and clearing his throat. He motions Kíli to stand before his table. “I assume that before you forgot your place you came here to report to me, Kíli?” he says officially, although the glint in his eyes betrays that his words are not as harsh as they sound.

Kíli smirks at his uncle’s behaviour, but plays along and lays his fist against his heart as a mark of respect as he answers, “I did. Nothing of concern to report,  _Zabad_ _ê_. Both our patrol and the western patrol have not encountered anything of a suspicious nature. The rumours of bandits appear unfounded and our borders remain secure.”

“Good,” Thorin contemplates. “This will strengthen my argument at the Council tomorrow. Thank you, Kíli.”

“What argument?” Kíli asks.

Thorin takes a deep breath and motions Kíli to sit down. He leans forward and folds his hands on his desk. “I have decided that we will stay in Khagal’abbad and build our new kingdom here.”

Kíli’s mouth drops open in surprise. “You mean … we’ll never return to Azsâlul'abad?!” When Thorin slowly shakes his head, he adds, “But … why?”

“Are you not happy here?”

“Well yes, but …”

“Our people want to settle down, Kíli . They are weary of battles and roaming the lands. I expect that most will be happy to stay here rather than wish return to the north eastern lands when I cannot guarantee we will ever reclaim the old kingdom. Not without significant loss of life.”

Kíli thinks about this. He has never known Azsâlul'abad. He was born here so for him Zibdîn undu ‘Urd has only ever been a tale, a dream and a possible adventure. “So that means … you will give up the Zebdar’egam?”

Thorin sighs but nods. “We are still the princes of Durin, Kíli. I will rule Durin’s folk here in Khagal’abbad and your brother after me. But the clans will remain ununited, yes.”

“And  _us_?”

“You know that already, Kíli. You knew that from the very first moment that we kissed.” He stands up and walks over to Kíli, bending down and taking his stubbly cheeks between his large hands. “I am sorry, my love, it cannot be any other way. I will say this again; I would understand if you did not wish to commit yourself to such a thing. I would surrender my right to my blessing if you asked me to. For eternity if that were Mahal’s decision. But there will never be another for me.”

Kíli gets up and leans into the warmth of his hands. “Nor will there be for me, Thorin.  _Amralizu,_ ” he says boldly.

Thorin’s breath shudders as Kíli declares his love for him in their secret language. And he pulls his lover into his embrace as he takes him into a deep passionate kiss.

***

Dís freezes in the doorway. She had gone to ask her brother about the Council meeting in the morning. Whether he was still planning to announce their settlement in Khagal’abbad. As the most senior representative of the female community she had wished to prepare for any eventual questions or concerns if he was planning to make his announcement. Yet her breath is stolen from her lungs as she stares at her brother locked in a passionate kiss with her youngest son.

Time seems to tick by at a fraction of its normal speed. Dís feels like she has been entombed alive, like she is screaming and kicking out and yet no-one can see or hear her.

When Thorin opens his eyes he jumps back in fright, nearly knocking Kíli to the floor as he does so. “Dís!”

The world turns in slow-motion as they all stare at each other in shock. It is only when the heavy door falls shut that the sound disturbs their freezehold and life seems to return to its natural pace.

“What is this?!” the dwarrowdam cries out. Her head flicks from Kíli, who has turned such a bright shade of red that he looks like he will burst, to Thorin, who has gone deathly pale.

“Dís…” Thorin says again, softly this time. “I … I was going to tell you …”

Dís is over in a few steps, staring up at her brother, her eyes flaming. “You were going to tell me what? That you are defiling my son?!”

“‘Amad…” Kíli tries, but without looking at him Dís cuts him off before he has a chance to say more. “Kíli, leave us. Right now!”

Kíli looks at Thorin who shakes his head at his sister. “No, namad,” he tries to sound calm. “This concerns the both of us. Do not send him away like a child.”

“He  _is_  a child! He is  _my_  child!!” Dís screams loudly now.

Thorin tries to calm her by putting a hand on her shoulder, but she sinks her teeth deep into his flesh, drawing blood as he yanks his hand back.

“I am  _no_  child! I am a buck now, mother!” Kíli jumps in, anger rising in his voice too. “Don’t pretend I had no say in this, because it was I who made an offer to Thorin!” he says defiantly.

Dís swings around and slaps her son hard across the face, leaving an angry imprint on his cheek. “I do not care how old you are! You are a silly little boy!” she screams at him. And she turns back to Thorin again, who shrinks back at the fire blazing in her eyes. “And  _you_ _!_ How dare you take advantage of my son! You know how much they both look up to you! You are supposed to protect them!”

“Dís, please listen for a moment …” Thorin attempts, but this time he is at the receiving end of her hand as the slap resonates through the room and his hand shoots to his cheek which begins to throb.

“Do you have any idea what would happen if the Council learnt of this?! Or Kehnar Gorm!” At that Dís herself pales, and she wobbles on her feet as the gravity of the situation hits her hard.

Kíli grabs her and pulls her against him. “’Amad, it is alright,” he whispers as he rocks her soothingly. “Please do not be angry with us. We are not just messing around. Amrali hû. Mâ mahdulyasthân,” he beams proudly.

Dís looks from her son to her brother in disbelief, taken aback by her son’s declaration in the dwarvish tongue and his statement about their blessing. “Mahdulyastân? Do you believe this?” she asks Thorin, who nods solemnly.

“I do. Amrali hû ya. It pains me,  _namad_ , that you had to find out this way. We did not know how to tell you…”

“Who else knows?”

Thorin swallows, readying himself for another outburst. “Balin knows.”

“And Dwalin?” Dís fills in, knowing that her brother would have told his best friend. Thorin nods.

“And … Fíli ,” Kíli adds, taking a rapid step back as his mother’s face darkens at that.

“Fíli knows?!”

“Yes,” Kíli replies. “But we did not tell him. He guessed. You know how close we are, ‘ _amad_. We share the same quarters, he was bound to find out at some point.”

Dís shakes her head at Thorin. “Is  _this_  why you have decided to stay in Khagal’abbad?”

“No, I do think it is the right thing to do for our people,” Thorin answers honestly. “But yes, perhaps Kíli has opened my eyes to my unrealistic obsession with Azsâlul'abad. Shown me there are other things that matter more than gold and titles.”

Dís shakes her head in disbelief, unsure what to make of all of this right now. “And what will you do? You can never be together.”

“Not openly no. We know this. And if people would knock on my door rather than just burst in then we could keep it a secret,” Thorin tries to humour his sister.

Dís snorts. “Perhaps.” She scowls at Thorin. “That does not mean I approve of what you are doing to my son!”

“I know.”

She turns back to Kíli, grabbing him by the cheeks forcing him to bend down until his face is right by hers. In a soft low voice she says, “Is this really what you want, Kíli? You are such a handsome boy. You could have your pick of the best lovers amongst our people. I know how much you admire my brother. But will you really forfeit your life to hide in the shadows for him?”

“I am not forfeiting my life,  _‘_ _amad_. My life is with Thorin, Mahal deemed it so. And I wish to be with him no matter what it takes.”

Dís looks into his eyes for a moment without blinking. Then she turns around and leaves the Thorin’s chambers without another word.

Both Thorin and Kíli simultaneously draw in a deep breath.

“Did that go well?” Kíli asks, confused and unable to read his mother’s emotions clearly.

Thorin laughs softly. “As well as it could have, I think,” and he rubs across the flaming bite mark on his hand.

This time he makes sure to lock his door, before he takes his lover back into his arms.

***

Kíli’s exchange with Dís is churning around in his head. Kíli is willing to sacrifice everything for him. He has told Dís that his life is with him.

“Stop thinking about my mother,” Kíli giggles as he drops to his knees and pulls up Thorin’s tunic, placing kisses all over his taut stomach. “It is quite a turn off, you know.”

Thorin smiles down softly at him. “I was not. I was thinking about you,” he strokes Kíli’s cheek. “About what you said - that your life is with me.”

“It is,” Kíli smiles back as he clambers back onto his feet and wraps his arms around Thorin’s neck. “Hikhthuzul.”

Thorin draws in a sharp breath. He does not know whether to feel happy or scared of his nephew’s unfaltering devotion to him. But before he has a chance to respond, Kíli grabs his hand and begins to drag him towards his own bedroom. Thorin is taken by surprise. At what point did he lose such control over the situation that Kíli has become the leading one in their relationship? In his own chambers of all places! He really is getting old that he lets his barely-of-age sister-son order him around like this. Yet it feels exciting and rejuvenating to be desired such by his younger lover.

Kíli pulls him down onto the bed and latches his lips onto his neck.

“Eager,” Thorin murmurs happily.

“I have not seen you for four days,” Kíli moans softly against his neck. “Yes I am eager!”

“You cannot be without me for just four days, my impatient one?” Thorin teases, earning him a soft bite against his neck which makes him groan in pleasure. Kíli had been quick to locate this particularly sensitive spot on his body and feeling his warm lips there is sending shivers through him. He runs his hands through Kíli’s hair, greasy and dusty from his days on the road. “You could have washed before bedding your king,” he grumbles playfully.

Kíli lifts his head and frowns at him. “Am I too dirty for you, your majesty?” He pushes Thorin onto his back and straddles him, grinning defiantly.

“That remains to be seen,” Thorin smiles as he places his hands on Kíli’s hips. “How does my captain think to serve his king tonight?”

Kíli considers him for a moment and blushes slightly. A little less confident and cocky this time he says softly. “Your captain was hoping that his king may wish to enjoy him tonight…” He bites his lip, shifting his backside over Thorin’s crotch.

They stare at each other silently for a moment. Thorin’s heart is thumping in his chest. “Are you sure?” he whispers hoarsely.

“Yes. If … if you want to, zabadê …”

Thorin can feel himself twitch and starting to grow hard. “I do,” he utters breathlessly. He strokes his hands over Kíli’s thighs. “I desire you so much,” he admits huskily.

Kíli sways. Seeing the fiercely burning heat in his uncle’s eyes flaming for him is making him sweat. “I want you to take me,” he whimpers, pushing his hips down and back again, rutting himself against Thorin’s growing cock as his hands trace over the fine material of Thorin’s tunic. “Please.”

“Patience, uzbad-dashatê,” Thorin groans deeply. He gently rolls Kíli off him and onto his back. “I do want to enjoy you tonight. And I am going to take my time over it,” he promises.

Kíli melts under his dark stare and sighs as Thorin’s hands roam along the inside of his leg, teasing their way upwards.

“Tell me how much you want me to touch you,” Thorin smiles a wicked smile at his lover.

Kíli softly wriggles under his touch, groaning. “Thorin … so much … Please … Y-you make me so hard.” He feels utterly spellbound under Thorin’s ministrations. The subject of his lifelong devotion strong and hard for him, wanting to own him.

Thorin’s eyes slide over the bulge in Kíli’s breeches. “Take out your cock for me,” he says and Kíli’s eyes grow wide. “Show it to me.”

Kíli keeps his eyes locked on Thorin’s as his fingers fumble with his laces. A moment later his hand slides inside and pulls out his stiff member. Thorin smiles as his eyes shift back down. “Abnâmul.” He very carefully traces a finger along the shaft, making Kíli draw in his breath. Then he looks over at that beautiful face again, blushing softly with heat. “Touch yourself for me. Show me how well you have learnt to pleasure yourself.”

Kíli shudders, but his hand slowly wraps around his prick as he obeys the order. “Kun, zabadê.” There is something so arousing and yet so comforting about Thorin taking charge.

Thorin groans softly as Kíli starts to move his hand along its length, pulling the skin down over his cockhead, showing off the soft pink tip.

“Gorgeous,” Thorin sighs as he sits back and watches Kíli tentatively pleasure himself. “I love watching you do that. Such a delightful sight.” His own hand slides down to palm himself through his breeches.

“Show me too,” Kíli breathes heavily. “Please.”

Thorin nods and pulls at the lacing to set himself free. Kíli watches him as Thorin takes himself in hand, teasingly twisting his hand over his tip, and the brunet increases the speed of his movement a little.

“You like what you see?” Thorin enquires. His voice has dropped even lower now as his arousal runs through him.

Kíli nods, his lips slightly parted as he stares at Thorin’s hard member rising up from between his thighs. “Very much so. You … you are … big,” he swallows hard.

Thorin leans himself forward and wraps his hand around Kíli’s hands, making him squeeze his cock harder. “You are a Durin too,” he grins. “Do not sell yourself short, my prince.”

“I’m not. It’s just …” Kíli flushes as he looks at Thorin’s large cock and he feels the anxiety rise in himself again. He is so afraid to fail him; that he will not be able to take his broadsword.

“Sssh, little one,” Thorin soothes as he can see Kíli is beginning to fret. “We will take our time. Until you feel ready for me. Alright, my love?” Kíli nods, placing his trust in his uncle as he always has.

Thorin lets go of his nephew and raises himself up off the bed. Slowly he begins to undress as Kíli’s eyes slide over him. One by one the simple garments that he had changed into after dinner drop onto the stone floor. As soon as he is free from his clothing he crawls back onto the bed and pulls Kíli in his arms, pressing his tongue against his lips to twirl around in the soft warmth of his mouth. Kíli’s cock presses against his own and Thorin groans softly at the sensation of his heat. He drags his hand down Kíli’s back and pushes his buttocks down to press him harder against him.

“Undress for me,” he says when he has pulled his tongue back, stroking his thumb over Kíli’s swollen lips.

Kíli quickly follows the order and Thorin smiles. If only it was this easy to make him obey all his orders! A moment later Kíli’s naked body flops down onto his own and he is showered in wet kisses as Kíli rubs himself against him once more. Thorin’s wraps his arms tightly around his nephew’s sleek form, pulling him further into the heat of their bodies. Kíli’s young body is still growing into adulthood, still broadening and strengthening. But already his muscles have started to bulk from his weapon training and hunting. He runs his fingers down the curvature of Kíli’s back until his thumbs rest on his tailbone. Kíli groans softly as he feathers his hands out over the soft globes that hide such pleasure between them.

“Finger me,” Kíli begs him softly, nuzzling against his ear.

Thorin takes a slow breath and then gently flips Kíli onto his back, before he reaches out for the little flacon that he now stores under his pillows. He seats himself in between Kíli’s thighs and pulls the cork, pushing Kíli’s buttocks gently apart. “Remember how nice this felt the first time,” he reminds his lover. “Relax, my beloved.” Kíli nods and pulls his cheeks apart further as Thorin brings his slicked fingers towards his entrance.

Kíli closes his eyes as Thorin begins to stroke between his cheeks. His initial reaction is to pull away again, but he stops himself. _This felt nice. Thorin will take care of you._ And as soon as he relaxes those rough fingers against his pucker feel amazing again. “Yes!” he groans softly as his nerves are teased by Thorin’s touch. “Inside please, Thorin.”

Thorin smiles as he very gently pushes one finger in. Kíli mewls in pleasure and it isn’t long before he demands another. His lover groans a little as he is stretched further, but takes him easily enough. “So hot,” Thorin whispers. “Want to feel that one my cock, Kíli,” he tries carefully, testing the water.

Fortunately Kíli grins as he writhes around his fingers. “You felt so good when I fucked you.” He goes a bright red at the crudity of his phrasing. Once more he has forgotten his place and the fact that his lover is the heir of Durin. “I mean ...”

But Thorin, despite his own blush, smiles wantonly. “I very much enjoyed you fucking me,” he winks at his prince who relaxes further under his playful touch. Thorin takes the hint and starts to drive his fingers slowly in and out of Kíli’s entrance like he had asked him to when he prepared him on Zannu Abkân. Kíli is groaning loudly now on each intrusion, encouraging Thorin to speed up the thrusting of his hand. “Do you like that, little Kee?” His other hand wraps firmly around his own cock as he runs it up and down his length. Pushing his fingers inside Kíli’s burning body is making it hard to keep in control and he needs to keep his strokes slow or he will end this night before it has barely begun.

By now Kíli is barely able to string a sentence together as his legs have fallen open wide and he grunts in the rhythm of Thorin’s penetration. “Good. More.” Already he is close. And when Thorin hits him dead on his most sensitive spot he wails softly. “Again! Please.”

Thorin twists his fingers and runs them over that soft nub inside Kíli’s body again, watching his lover wriggle and groan and fall apart under his touch.

Kíli’s hand is on his cock again and he begins to palm himself in unison with Thorin’s fingers. His muscles are clenching hard around Thorin’s fingers as he gets closer to his climax and he jerks himself off with vigour, panting heavily. Suddenly he arches up from the bed with a loud grunt and almost immediately his hand and stomach are coated in the pearly cum spilling from his swollen prick.

Thorin joins in Kíli’s groans and has to grab his base firmly to stop himself from joining his release too. “Beautiful prince,” he sighs as Kíli’s eyes flick open. “Did that feel good?”

Kíli beams brightly. “Mahal, yes,” he sighs. “Thank you.”

Thorin smiles brightly. His fingers are still locked inside Kíli’s body and as he hums softly in reassurance as he pulls them back from that heat and begins to slick up his cock. Kíli is a wreck as he returns his hand to his backside, slathering him too in the substance. “Kíli?” he asks softly. “Do you want me to …?”

“Please Thorin,” the prince nods. “I am ready, please.” His body is pulsing with need and in any case if Thorin hesitates for too long he will lose his nerve. He needs this NOW! And he pulls his legs against his chest to give himself completely to his lover.

Thorin admires that delicious backside for a moment, stroking the curvature again and one more time rubbing his fingers over that now stretched hole, before he lays oiled cock against that open heat. He keeps his eyes locked onto Kíli’s face as he begins to very slowly push the head against that pink ring, watching out for any sign of anxiety. But after one little flinch as he breaches the rim with the broad head of his cock Kíli  relaxes blissfully around him and already allows him to slide in further.

“Are you alright, Kee?” he asks holding himself in place halfway.

“Yes!” Kíli whines in need. “Oh Thorin, this … this feels good!” He is amazed by just how amazing this feels. A little uncomfortable too, but somehow he needs it so very badly, needs to feel that gorgeous cock even deeper inside him. And so after a few breaths he wraps his legs around Thorin’s backside and smoothly draws him in further. After the slow preparation Thorin had given him he takes him easily enough and though it feels odd to be stretched so widely down there, it also feels fantastic to have his uncle’s heavy sword rammed deep inside his body.

Thorin grunts deeply as he is taken in completely. “You are so tight. Oh Kee, are you sure you are alright?” His young lover’s body is gripping his shaft so very hard is makes his temples throb in unison with his cockhead.

“Yes, Thorin,” Kíli smiles drunkenly and he pulls his uncle down for a deep kiss. “So good. M…move please.”

Thorin rests himself on his palms as he begins to roll his hips, dragging himself out only a little at first to allow Kíli  to get used to his girth and relax more. “So hot, my prince,” he groans deeply. The sensation on his member is overwhelming. No wonder his friends have boasted about doing this for so many years. Having had Kíli drill himself inside his body a month or so ago had been wonderfully intimate and had felt surprisingly good. But this feeling of Kíli’s heat wrapped tightly around his pulsing length, opening up for him to accept his seed, is beyond any description. As Kíli  relaxes he finds himself speed up his thrusts, pulling back further and pushing harder on each forward movement. Still he keeps his eyes focused on Kíli’s face, worried that at any moment it will become too much for him and he will ask him to stop. But Kíli is a sweaty puddle of pleasure under him, groaning and writhing as he is pounded down into the mattress. And Thorin can see the blood return to his lover’s member as he is starting to harden again; a sure sign that he is enjoying this as much as he says he is.

When Thorin stills his movement, Kíli moans in frustration. “Thorin?”

“Turn onto your side,” Thorin whispers as he pulls himself back slowly, leaving Kíli’s body with a wet pop.

He rolls himself behind his lover as he pushes him into the right position. Thorin wraps his arm underneath Kíli’s leg and bends it up, wrapping it over his own and opening him up for him again. He rubs the wet head of his cock between Kíli’s cheeks before smoothly pushing it back into his body, drawing soft whimpers of pleasure from Kíli. “Amralizu, Kíli,” he whispers as he pulls his love close against him as he sheaths himself back fully into the heat of his body. He licks his rough tongue over his shoulder, tasting the salty sweat on Kíli’s burning skin.

“Amralizu ya,” Kíli pants in return and turns his head to taste Thorin’s tongue. “You feel so good, my king.” He feels completely at ease now at the hands of his lover and his pushes back his arse to feel the thrust even deeper.

As he buries himself inside Kíli’s body once more, Thorin’s large hand snakes around and takes hold of Kíli’s semi-hard cock and he slowly begins to pump the hardness back into that delicious sword.

“Oh Thorin … yesssss,” Kíli whines as he moves himself back against Thorin before thrusting himself into his hand. “F-faster.”

“Good boy,” Thorin smiles as he places ample wet kisses all over Kíli’s shoulder. “Tell me how you like it.”

“Harder!” Kíli cries out.

Thorin increases the pressure on his lover’s cock, impressed by his youthful ability to return to full service so quickly. He speeds up both his thrusts hard into Kíli’s heat and the jerking of his cock and Kíli whimpers and whines zealously as he does so.

“Alright, Kee?” Thorin whispers into his ear as his lover’s cries are so loud and urgent now.

“Kun! Yâ Mahal!” Kíli is arching against him, thrusting himself back as hard as Thorin is giving him. “S…so close!”

Thorin groans as he can feel Kíli clench, around his cock rather than his fingers this time, before another load of hot seed spills from him into his hand. And he loses himself inside Kíli as soon as the liquid flows onto his skin, his climax blooming inside his prince’s backside as he thrusts himself hard into him one more time. He knows deep shuddering noises are coming from his throat but they feel no longer his own as his orgasm flows through him. Incredible. No handjob even comes close to this level of pleasure and he feels completely drunk on the intensity.

Kíli feels equally lost in ecstasy as Thorin pulls another orgasm from him, so soon after the last one. Even then he is unprepared for the sensation Thorin coming inside of him. There cannot be anything more honourable, more pleasurable, than to have his king and lover spill his seed deep into him. And he shudders and cries and pants.

Neither knows how many minutes have passed before their heartbeats begin to slow down and their breaths become steady again. Thorin pulls Kíli as close as possible, soiling his heated skin with the seed in the palm of his hand. “Kíli ,” he whispers softly, pressing his lips against Kíli’s shoulder, “that was wonderful.”

Kíli wriggles himself out of Thorin’s embrace causing his uncle to slip from him as he turns around to face the love of his life. “Yes. Amazing,” he beams. “That was … amazing.” He digs his hands into Thorin’s thick hair, threading his braids through his fingers. “Thank you for making me yours.”

Thorin wraps him into his arms again and presses soft kisses on the corners of his mouth. “Thank you for letting me, my prince.” He draws Kíli close against his chest and draws in a deep satisfied breath as he breathes in Kíli’s scent of sweat and sex, listening to his breathing grow steady until it becomes the deep regular sound of sleep.

As he lies listening to Kíli’s soft snoring, stroking his thick fingers through his nephew’s soft hair, he sighs, thinking back to the heated exchange with his sister earlier. He knows that Dís does not approve of what he is doing with her son. That if Kíli had not stayed in the room then she would have given him a whole lot worse than just a slap across the face and the bite mark that still throbs on the back of his hand. Yet it could have been worse. He had expected Dís to threaten to kill him if he ever came near Kíli ever again. But surprisingly enough she had had left the two of them together in his rooms. And although she might never forgive him for sleeping with Kíli, she seemed to have resigned herself to the fact that Kíli is an adult now and no longer answerable to her. That this is his choice and that there is nothing she can do about it. But that is not how Thorin wants things to be. He loves his sister dearly and is so grateful to her for birthing his two nephews. He does not want to go against her wishes, does not want Kíli to become and argument between them. And he can understand her position as a mother. She had been right; it was his duty to protect his nephews not to place them in the path of danger. And yet that is exactly what he is doing as he lies here in the aftermath of their forbidden lovemaking. And once more he feels the guilt battle the love and the lust inside him, preventing him from relaxing into the sleep that has taken Kíli so easily. How he wishes that he could have it all. To love Kíli without risking his safety. He pulls Kíli’s sleeping frame close again, pressing a sure kiss on his head. “ _Burusha e, ‘ibin_ _ê_ _._   _Rum marukhazu bekhaz Mahalul.”_   _I am sorry, my gem. May Mahal’s hammer shield you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nadad - brother  
> namad - sister  
> 'amad - mother  
> Iklaladranamrâg - Winter Fest  
> Zibdîn Durinul - Durin's Kingdom (positional derivative of Uzbad - King)  
> Uzbadkalmu Barraf Hadud - King's Crown of the Seven Clans  
> Barafzabbad - Clan Lords  
> amrâlê - my love  
> Zibdîn undu ‘Urd - Kingdom under the Mountain (Erebor - note that 'Urd is an Ereborism as generic khuzdul for mountain is 'abad)  
> Zebdar’egam - the throne of the Highking  
> Amralizu - I love you. Note that Kili here uses the familiar form, indicating a much closer relationship than his normal address to Thorin of astû, which is a formal address used for elders and those of higher rank.  
> Amrali hû. Mâ mahdulyasthân - I love him. We are soulmates.  
> Amrali hû ya - I love him too  
> Hikhthuzul - always, forever  
> uzbad-dashatê - my prince  
> Abnâmul - beautiful  
> Kun, zabadê - Yes, my lord


	17. The Council

Zannu Abkân had changed things forever between them. What they had first done then and again last night could never been undone, never be erased from memory. Twice he has lain with his sister-son. They are lovers.  And criminals …

Kíli is still asleep in his bed when Thorin readies himself for his council meeting. They are becoming increasingly careless and Thorin knows it, yet he lacks that level of worry and caution that he had started off with on that fateful night when he had taken Kíli hunting and they had first crossed the boundary into sin. But now that their closest friends and family know about them, what is between them feels frightingly normal. Fíli knows and so as long as he is careful not to be seen when leaving Thorin’s chambers there is no longer a need for him to creep back to his chambers in the middle of the night to pretend he has slept in his own bed. Even Balin and Dís, who have so strongly expressed their disapproval, have not actually tried to stop them and he knows neither of them will say anything that would put them at risk. And all of it has given them a false sense of security. A feeling that they can get away with loving each other like this; that it is almost acceptable. The reality of what will happen when others learn of their sin seems too distant to even care about. Their community in the royal quarters is sheltered. It is not like the larger quarters where everyone knows everyone’s business. He is the heir of Durin. Who would dare spy on his private business? His chambers should be secure and safe.

He looks over at the dark tousled hair spread across the pillows. The blissfully sleeping face framed by it. So beautiful, so handsome. Mahal had truly excelled himself when he had forged Kíli for him.

An urge creeps up into him. To scoop his wonderful nephew up and run away with him. Away from a world where they cannot be together. Towards a life where he can hold him in his arms and kiss him and love him until the end of their days. He silently laughs at the idiocy of that thought. Of course he cannot run away from his duties, his people. He is Durin’s son, heir to Zebdar’egam. Running away like a thief would be ridiculous.

Besides it would leave Fíli horribly exposed. The shame his eldest nephew would bear because of him … No, he will never allow that to happen. He may not love Fíli as a lover, but he does love him like a son and he will never shame and abandon him like that. Not even for Kíli.

He bends himself down and places a kiss on Kíli’s forehead. “Akhminizu uzbad-dashatê,” he whispers in thanks of the most beautiful night they had shared together. “Amralrukizu.” Kíli stirs a little, but does not wake. And with a sigh he turns around and leaves his chambers to make his announcement to the Council.

***

The buzz of conversation dies down and al rise to their feet as soon as he appears in the doorway. On the left side of the oak table are first his advisors, Balin, Dwalin and Gloín, and next to Gloín is Norrak, an elected spokesman of the bucks of Khagal’abbad. On the right hand side are Dís, her own advisors and a spokeswoman for the Dams. This is the only occasion outside of their feasts, when both communities are seated around the same table but here they have equal voice. At the far end of the table are the ambassadors of Lord Daín and Lord Suthri. And lastly, at the opposite head of the table stands Kehnar Gorm.

Thorin nods to all indicating that they may take their seats again. He throws a quick glance at Dís, but his sister avoids his gaze as she stares purposefully at the scrolls in front of her. However, he can see that her bearded jaw is set hard and he knows he is still in deep trouble with her.

As soon as Thorin has seated himself at the head of the table, Balin clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming here today,” he opens the meeting. “We have several items on the agenda that we need to cover, including …”

Thorin lays a hand on his arm. “Before you continue, Balin, there is an announcement I wish to make.”

Balin glares at him. He is not happy. He likes to follow procedure and routine and he has run every council meeting following a strict agenda. There is little that upsets him more than something unexpected thrown in that he has no control over and Thorin had neither discussed nor added to the agenda whatever announcement he wishes to make today. He does know why. Their recent conversations have inevitably ended up going over the same old argument and Thorin has pretty much avoided him since the Midwinter Fest. But despite their disagreement and his discontent, Thorin is still his senior in rank and he twitches as he reluctantly hands over to him.

Thorin gives him a curt nod and begins to address the council. “My brethren. For many years we have talked about our homeland. Our right to return to Azsâlul'abad and reclaim what is ours. You know that for all those years I have sought a way to do so, to enter the mountain and return Rakl'aban to Zahar Durinul in order the reunite the Clans and rid Azsâlul'abad of the dragon. But like my father before me so far I have failed you.”

There is a rumbling around the table at that, mostly of heads being shaken. He can see Dwalin is about to get up and defend his honour, but he holds up his hand to silence him and the others.

“I have a choice now,” he continues. “I know my people are weary of travelling, of fighting. Durin’s folk suffered many losses in the years before we came to Khagal’abbad. We have experienced hardship and starvation. We have suffered humiliation and betrayal by those who we considered allies.”

This time there is a murmur of agreement.

“But here, in these ancient dwarvish lands, our communities have slowly begun to settle and prosper. I wish to see my people happy. And for that we may have to make those sacrifices not previously considered. I have thought long and hard about this, of the implications of my decision. This sacrifice does not come easy to me, you must understand. But I have concluded that _this_ is the right thing for Durin’s folk. New generations have been born and raised here in the Blue Mountains. This is their home. And we shall make it a home for all. We will not return to Azsâlul'abad. Instead we will rebuild the kingdom of Gabilgathol as our new home.”

There is a moment of stunned silence around the table. But then there are smiles all round and fists slammed on the table in approval.

“Shamukh Thorin Thraínul Thrórul, Uzbad undu Gabilgathol!” Gloin suddenly calls out.

Thorin’s eyes grow wide in surprise at the title that Gloín has honoured him with so prematurely and he is ready to explain that proper protocol will be followed before he takes up the throne, but he is drowned out by others who join Gloín with hails and fists thumped on the table in their praise of Thorin’s decision. Even Balin, who despite his annoyance with Thorin looks relieved too at the prospect of being able to settle down and grow old here.

This time when he looks over at his sister she gives him a curt smile. He may in her mind have made the worst decisions when it comes to his nephew, but he at least has done the right thing for their people.

“Akhminruki astnu,” he silences the crowd again with his hand.

He takes a breath and turns his attention to Gorm, who looks back at him with a stoic expression. “Kehnar Gorm Mahalul, will Mahal give us His blessing to stay here?” he asks formally.

“I am sure ‘Adadmâ Ablâkul will give us his blessing,” Gorm smirks, “ _if_ our settlement here means that our ancient traditions and customs are upheld and where necessary reintroduced,Zabad.”

Thorin narrows his eyes at the older dwarf. “What do you mean?”

Gorm rubs his hand over his long beard. “Well … Certain things have, shall we say, slipped since Durin’s folk left Azsâlul'abad.” He folds his hands and leans himself forward. Thorin sees the others shift uncomfortably in his peripheral vision. Gorm really only attends the Council meetings to offer spiritual advice if asked for and give his blessings in the name of Mahal to any important decisions being made. He is not actually a Member of the Council, and it is certainly not his place to challenge how Thorin runs the affairs in Khagal’abbad.

Balin glances over at Thorin whose face is beginning to cloud over and bends himself forward to whisper, “Do you wish me to run through the rest of the agenda, Zabadê?”

But Thorin ignores him and leans himself forward a little, staring hard at the older dwarf at the other end of the table. “I do not care for your cryptic input, Gorm,” Thorin answers roughly, dropping formalities as he does his best to not lose his temper with the Highpriest. “Be specific about which matters displease Mahal so that we can put them right.” He can see both Balin and Dís flinch but he pays it no heed for he is sure that this is not about him and Kíli. If Gorm knew about that they would not be having this oddly shielded conversation.

“Forgive my impudence,Zabad, but it has come to my attention that certain matters have not been dealt with according to Durin’s law. A recent matter of theft was settled in gold with the plaintive. But the perpetrator was never punished.”

Thorin slams his fist down on the table, making everyone jump. “I will not discuss any such matters at this table. You judge on matters of religious law and I do on matters of common law. Do not forget your place, Gorm. Do not presume you may tell me how to run my court. You take advice from Mahal in your judgements; I take advice from The Council. We will not stray into each other’s territory. Am I understood, Gorm?”

Everyone else around the table has flinched and flushed, but Gorm does not bat an eyelid as he twirls the braids in his beard leisurely. “As you dictate, _Zabad_.” He clears his throat and continues in his usual calm manner, although his tone is cutting through the room like a diamond saw, “There is another matter, Thorin. I grieve with you for the loss of your brother,” he says gravely as he makes their sign for respect for the dead, “as I have done for all those fallen in the Great Battle. But if you will not return to Azsâlul'abad, will you end your long years of mourning and regrow your beard to honour Durin, Father of the _Longbeards_ and Mahal’s creation, once more?”

Thorin feels an angry flush run up his neck and his hands are balling. How dare this dwarf talk to him about his grieving for Frerin in front of The Council? Personally he wants to shout at him to leave the room right now. But at the same time he needs to keep Gorm on his side - ultimately he is Mahal’s representative on Kamin - and he has already argued with him. He had been right to do so regarding the matter of law; he needed to reinforce those boundaries. But this was another matter altogether, one of custom and honour. Durin’s folk considered the keeping of their beards as much a cultural as a religious matter. Shaving another’s beard was considered the ultimate degradation. And not keeping one’s beard well kempt was an insult on Mahal himself. Perhaps this is a matter where he can show his goodwill to the priest. He has to, he does not need him stirring up matters or trying to find fault in him. Not whilst he has put himself and his beloved in such a vulnerable position. And thus through gritted teeth, he answers, “You are right, Kehnar. Now that our days of wandering are behind us, our time of grieving for those lost must also come to an end,” he raises his voice slightly to add weight to his words and bring the others around the table on his side. He may give in to Gorm’s demand, but he will do it on his own terms. “We shall honour them by rebuilding our home here, in Khagal’abbad. It will be even grander than Azsâlul'abad was!” He raises his fist to emphasize his statement even more and the others chorus their approval. “And my beard will grow as our wealth grows, until both are full and magnificent once more!”

Dís gives him a broad smile. Her brother may have been a fool recently, but he is the Durin King alright. He knows how to inspire his men and women and how to turn events his way.

Gorm nods in satisfaction, although there is no warmth in smile. “I am pleased to hear this. And I assume that you will seek the title of _Uzbad_?” he prods Thorin a little more.

Thorin glances over to Balin, who answers for him. “Kun. If Thorin no longer seeks the throne of Azsâlul'abad, then may I suggest that he is crowned Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul here in Khagal’abbad. And that we pronounce our new home Thorindûm. All in favour?”

There is a moment of animated conversation but when it dies down, all hands are raised. Except for Kehnar Gorm’s of course, who holds not voting power at The Council. “Very well,” the Highpriest smirks. “Then we had best bring this meeting to a swift conclusion so that we can begin our preparation for your coronation, Zabad Thorin.”

Balin scowls in equal measures as Thorin does at the Highpriest. Who does he think he is; he does not call the shots here! And he feels a chill creep up his spine. He has tried to warn Thorin over and over again about Gorm. That he is becoming arrogant and beginning to forget that he only ruled inside Libthîn and not outside it. The dwarf is slippery as a fish and the more Balin sees of him, the less he trusts him. Indeed there has been something fishy about this whole conversation. Something underhand that he cannot quite place his finger on yet. But whatever it is he has a very bad feeling about it.

***

Thorin places his hand on Balin’s arm one he has called the meeting to a close, indicating that he wishes him to stay behind. As soon as the others have departed, he looks at his old friend. “Forgive me for not discussing my decision with you.”

Balin raises an eyebrow. Thorin is not one to apologise quickly. He shrugs. “It is your decision, Thorin, and a wise decision at that. Your people will be grateful for it. This is not the first time Durin’s folk have resettled and these are fine dwarvish lands. Do not be too hard on yourself, Thorin. You have not failed us. You have made the decision of a great leader – to put your people’s welfare first.”

Thorin smiles. “Thank you, Balin. I appreciate that.” He makes a move to get up, but Balin stops him.

“Thorin,” he lowers his voice, flicking his head around to make sure they are alone. “Gorm, he …”

“I know,” Thorin acknowledges. “I can see it too. He is stirring. He is involving himself in matters that are not of his concern and speaking beyond his authority.” He sighs. “But what can I do, other than remind him of his boundaries? But I have no command over him. He is Mahal’s chosen one.”

Balin nods. “That he is. That is why he is dangerous, Thorin. Even if he has no direct authority over you or any of us, he has influence. If he shouts loud enough that Mahal disapproves of your decisions, that you are invoking His wrath over us by going against His will … Your people trust you, Thorin, they admire you. But they will not choose your word over Mahal’s.”

“And I do not wish them to. The question is though, does Gorm really represent Mahal’s word or his own desires?”

Balin gasps. What Thorin has just said out loud, he will never repeat to anyone. Gorm is Mahal’s Kehnar and Thorin questioning his honour and trustworthiness is as sacrilegious as if he had offended the Zabadu Dehar himself. But Balin cannot help but wonder if there is some truth in those words. Gorm is still but a dwarf. No mortal being is completely flawless. Everyone has their own desires that cloud their judgement. Thorin, who he admires more than any other dwarf, is a prime example of this.

“Just be careful, Thorin,” he says to his friend. And at that they both rise to return to their quarters and ready themselves for a day’s work.

***

“What did they say. ‘amad? Did the council support Thorin’s decision?” Fíli asks curiously when his mother returns from the meeting. Soon he will be able to come to the meetings, Thorin had promised him. He had to complete one final assignment with Balin and then he would be allowed to join his elders as part of his education as the heir of Durin. And he can hardly wait.

“Kun, they did,” Dís smiles as she shrugs off her heavy mantel.

“Ukhsu!” Kíli exclaims. He had been a little warry of his mother after the harsh words spoken between them last night, but since she seems to carry on as if nothing had happened, he decides to do the same for now.

Dís watches both her sons bounce with excitement as the talk about the decision, about staying here and building _a kingdom even greater than Khazad-d_ _û_ _m and the Lonely Mountain combined!_ as they exclaim with glee. She knows they would have been equally excited if she had told them they were to pack their bags to march upon Azsâlul'abad. Her boys are enthused about whatever her brother dictates; they are both totally loyal and devoted to him. In very different ways though …

She watches them as they play fight with each other. They are of age now and they have responsibilities and can act like bucks when required. Yet they are still so young and naïve.

She sighs deeply as she observes Kíli pin his brother down. He is so much like Thorin was in his young days, so full of energy and adventure. It is no wonder the two are attracted to each other. She knows it is wrong and she had been horrified to find out that Thorin was courting her son. The very idea sickens her. But she can also see they make each other happy. And she knows deep in her heart that Thorin will look after her son as he would the most precious of treasures.

And she remembers a moment from long ago. Forty years to be exact. When the fever of her labour had played tricks on her mind. And whilst she was delirious with the pain that ripped through her as she battled to bring her babe into the world, Kaminzabdûna had answered her prayers to let her birth a healthy boy. But had she misinterpreted the words she had heard?

 _Mahdu uzb_ _â_ _d_ – the blessing of kings, she had understood the whispered words to be. And she had not questioned it as Kíli would be third in line to the throne, securing the line of Durin. But what if in fact the divine words had been _Mahdu uzb_ _a_ _d_ – blessing of _the_ king. Her brother? Could Kíli really be mahdulyasthûnhu? But how could that be when Mahal forbade such a relation?

And the Council meeting had worried her greatly. Priesthood was reserved for bucks only and as such she had little to do with Gorm and his ukhân. Kehnar always been a quiet observer during the meetings, offering advice only when asked. But today’s exchange between her brother and the Highpriest had sent chills through her. Gorm had raised some fair points, but it was the manner in which he had done it that had frightened her. There had been a chilling undertone, one that questioned Thorin’s authority and wisdom. Her brother had handled it very well, she thought, and if anyone could keep the Highpriest in his place it was Thorin. But he would have to play it carefully. Their people dedicated every bit of themselves to honour Mahal. Their laws and customs were steeped in history and the dwarves were proud of that. Dís had been young when they had fled Azsâlul'abad and she does not recall exactly how things used to be then compared to how they are now. But she understands that Thorin rules with less of an iron fist than their grandfather had.

What she does know is that Thorin is playing a very dangerous game with her son. If anyone learns that the king is bedding his nephew they will get a whole lot worse than the slap she had dealt them both. Those who currently know can be trusted; she does not doubt any one of them. But it would take but one slip up for the news to reach other ears. Of those who will be less likely to turn a blind eye to Thorin’s sin. And she fears for the both of them.

_Oh brother, why do you take such risks? Why my Kíli? Can you not see what will come of this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zebdar’egam - Throne of the Highking  
> Akhminizu uzbad-dashatê - Thank you, my prince.  
> Amralrukizu - I am head over heels in love with you  
> Rakl'aban - the Arkenstone (Precious Stone, which is the rough etymology of Arkenstone, based on the word jarknasteinn in the Edda from which Tolkien also took the dwarven outer-names)  
> Zahar Durinul - the House of Durin  
> Shamukh Thorin Thraínul Thrórul, Uzbadu Gabilgathol - Hail Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of Gabilgathol  
> Akhminruki astnu - Thank you wholeheartedly (plural male form - when addressing a mixed group khuzdul always uses the male pronoun)  
> Kehnar Gorm Mahalul - Highpriest Gorm, son of Mahal. Because the priests serve the divine Father of the dwarves, they renounce their mortal father's name on inauguration and become the sons of Mahal  
> ‘Adadmâ Ablâkul - Our Mighty Father  
> Kamin - Earth  
> Kun - Yes  
> Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul - King of Durin's Folk  
> Thorindûm - Thorin's Hall  
> Libthîn - Temple (place of worship)  
> Zabadu Dehar - Lord of the Anvil  
> Ukhsu! - Expression of surprise (Wow!)  
> mahdulyasthûnhu- his blessed husband  
> ukhân - priests


	18. The Walls Have Ears

The two firm knocks on the door are unmistakably Thorin’s. “Fili, are you ready?” his voice booms from the other side of the door.

“Kun, irak’adad.” Fíli hoist his pack over his shoulder and pulls open the door to his uncle whose royal tunic and fur mantle have now been exchanged for his plain work attire. He looks no less intimidating for it though, the blond prince thinks. No one in their community would mistake Thorin for anything less than the king for even in plain clothes his sheer presence demands respect.

Thorin throws a casual glance inside the room. “Is Kíli here?”

“Lu’,” Fíli tries hard not to roll his eyes at his uncle. “We only saw each other at breakfast when Dís told us about the outcome of the meeting. Then he left for work whilst I finished making our lunch.” He holds up the cloth bag in which he has packed fresh bread and salted meats.

Thorin nods. At least Kíli had returned to his own room at some point. “Very well, then let us go. We are already opening up late because of the Council meeting and I do not want to lose any more trade than necessary today.”

Fíli quickly closes up his chamber and jogs after Thorin towards the stables. “Mother said the Council agreed with your decision,” he chatters. “And that they agreed to crown you King of Durin’s Folk.”

“They did.” Thorin secures the saddlebags and hoist himself in the saddle.

Fíli frowns at Thorin’s unresponsiveness as he too mounts his pony. “That’s good, is it not?”

“Kun, it is.” He presses his heels in the pony’s flank to make their way down the valley.

The blond prince sighs. He follows Thorin in silence for a while. Normally when his uncle is not in a talkative mood, which happens a lot after he’s held a Council meeting and he is still churning thoughts over in his head, he just accepts it and just entertains himself with the sights along the road. But Thorin seems to be brooding unusually over something. And fuelled by his own worries he cannot help himself when he asks, “Is everything alright, Thorin?”

His uncle slows and looks over his shoulder. “I think so. Are _you_ alright?”

“Yes, I am fine. You just seem quiet today. Like something is bothering you.”

“Hmm.” Thorin stares ahead, contemplating what to tell his heir. He needs to know about Gorm. In case anything happens to him it is important that the prince knows who his allies and enemies are. Not that he is exactly sure that the Kehnar is his enemy. At this moment in time he is not sure at all what to make of him or his intentions. The dwarf holds the highest position of power amongst their people – Mahal’s voice, His eyes and ears. A position even the Highking would have no influence over. He cannot work out what it is that the dwarf wants from him, what he hopes to achieve by winding him up and sticking his nose in his business.

Fíli coughs softly, knowing he should just drop it. But with a little blush in his cheeks he asks softly, “Is everything alright between you and my brother?”

At that Thorin whips his head around. “Yes of course. Why? Did he say something? Is he upset?” _Had Kíli not enjoyed what we have done after all?!_

“N-no,” Fíli stutters, taken aback by the sudden flow of counter-questions. “He is fine. It’s just … I am sorry, Thorin. I meant nothing by it.”

“But he is fine?”

At that Fíli snickers a little. It is kind of sweet to see his uncle fret so much over his baby brother. To see that Thorin shares the same insecurities in his love-life as any other dwarf.  “Yes, he is fine, Thorin. He was in very fine spirit indeed this morning when he joined us for breakfast,” he grins a little sheepishly, guessing what they had been up to.

“Good,” Thorin says curtly, wishing the blush in his cheeks to go away as he keeps his eyes firmly on the road ahead. But he feels a satisfied smirk pull at the corners of his mouth and little flutters play in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about last night.

The ride into the town where they work in the blacksmith’s is less than an hour and they arrive well before the sun reaches its highest peak. They have not lost too much time this morning. The meetings are held very early to accommodate the fact that the council members all have their day jobs to fulfil as well as their council duties. One day … One day his people will be able to just fulfil their duties in his court without having to work themselves to the bone for the tall men in the valleys also.

As if reading his mind Fíli enquires as they are setting up ready to open up, “Will you still be working in the smithy once you are crowned king, Thorin?”

“Mm,” Thorin mumbles. His apprentices have already stoked the fires, but he is blowing more heat into the furnace. “What do you expect me to do, Fíli?” he glances over at his nephew. “Sit on my throne and demand my people bring me handfuls of gold?”

Fíli cringes, he had not meant to insult Thorin who seems to be in an especially bad mood today. “I-I am sorry, uncle. I meant no offence…”

Thorin sighs deeply. “You did not offend. I am just … Something happened at the meeting this morning and it concerns me.”

Fíli glances up when Thorin finally seems to be about to explain the cause of his sour mood, but Thorin turns his back and says no more. He does not probe; clearly Thorin does not want to tell him and he has already pushed him enough this morning. He just hopes that one day soon Thorin will trust him enough to share such matters. For his own sake so he does not have to carry all his burdens alone. But perhaps that is what Kíli’s role is now …

Custom is busy for the rest of the day. From the moment Fíli throws open the big barn doors, the men and women of the town are queued up. Fíli spends most of the morning assisting Frirk, the farrier, and does not see Thorin again until early into the afternoon. By that time his uncle is covered in soot and the sweat is dripping off him. And as Fíli observes him, waiting for him to finish the piece he is working on, he tries to see what his brother sees. It is not hard. Thorin is a handsome dwarf. Although he has never been anything other than his uncle and his king and Fíli harbours no amorous feelings for him, he cannot deny his uncle is a very attractive buck. And he is powerful, both physically and in rank. Fíli knows the other bucks all swoon over him and he imagines it will be the same amongst the dams. If Thorin but clicked his fingers he could have his bed kept warm every night of the year. And yet he has held out for all these years, never giving in to the desires of the flesh, until Kíli came of age. Kíli, of all dwarves – his own nephew!

When Fíli had first found out about his brother and uncle he had hardly been surprised. He had always known his brother had a soft spot for Thorin and his only surprise had been Thorin returning Kíli’s advances. He had not worried about it. It may have seemed a little odd to see two bucks who were so closely related court each other, but he had not thought more of it. No-one had ever told him it was wrong. They lived their sheltered lives in the safety of the royal quarters and he knew no better. He had only known it was to be kept a secret because Thorin had urged him to. But he had thought that perhaps the king did not wish to broadcast his relationship so soon. After all he was not just sleeping with Kíli. He saw him as his soulmate and that would give Kíli a very high-ranking status indeed.

But yesterday his mother had found out about them and her reaction had frightened the life out of Fíli. When she had returned from Thorin’s chambers she had slammed her own door closed with such force that it had echoed through the royal quarters like thunder and Fíli had run over to see what was going on. His mother was fiery, like all the dark-haired Durins were, but never to that extend and she certainly did not slam doors like a juvenile.

After no answer had come in response to his soft knocks he had carefully opened the door to his mother’s chambers and stuck his head around the corner. There he had found Dis sobbing across her desk. He had run over to her, worried sick about what was wrong, and thrown his arms around her. And so they had sat together in silence for a long time, until eventually she had glanced up at him.

“Fíli, you know who is courting your brother?” she had asked quietly. It was not so much a question as a seeking of confirmation.

Fíli had swallowed hard. He could not say - Thorin had expressly forbidden him to say anything to his mother. All he could do was nod.

“And do you know what would happen if anyone else found out about them?”

“No,” he had answered honestly.

She had taken his face in her cupped hands and brought hers so close to his that their noses had touched. “Fíli, what your uncle is doing with Kíli is very wrong. Their blood runs too close. Their courtship is considered a crime and a sin. If anyone but those who know find out, they could be severely punished.”

Fíli’s eyes had grown wide with fright. “How severely?”

And his mother had told him her fears and had watched the blood drain from her son’s face.

“Do they not know this?” he had asked, his voice shaking.

“I don’t know if Kíli does. But my brother certainly does!” Dis had growled softly, letting go of Fíli’s cheeks as she had wiped away her tears.

“Then why does he …?”

“Because love can be blind, my son.”

Fíli jumps from his daydream as a large hand touches down on his shoulder. “Lunch?” the familiar deep rumble of Thorin’s voice comes from behind him.

He glances up into his uncle’s grey blue eyes and nods, following him towards the back of the small stone building. They sit down on the opposite benches and share the packed lunch and a skin of ale.

“Thorin,” Fíli begins, flushing deeply as he does so. He glances around, making sure there is no-one around them. But the other two apprentices had gone out for their lunch and the smithy is closed whilst they are having their break. “Is it true what ‘amad has told me? That you and my brother …” he takes a deep breath, shrinking under his uncle’s intense gaze, “could you really be executed for it?”

He looks at his uncle, who has grown very still, the drinking skin hovering in the air as if he has frozen in time. Slowly he lowers it as he lowers his eyes too. Then he nods solemnly. “Yes, Fíli. That is why it must remain the closest of secrets.”

“Do you really believe he is your soulmate?” Fíli shudders at his own question. Although Thorin has cared for him from the day he was born and they too have a close bond, he has always had the greatest admiration and deepest respect for his uncle and has never been as frank with him as Kíli had.

But Thorin smiles kindly at him. “I do, Fíli. I would not be risking both our lives like this if I did not.”

“I don’t understand,” Fíli sighs. “How can your blessing be a sin?”

“I do not know, Fíli. I am no ukhan.” He lowers his voice a little. “But I am more inclined to trust my own feelings and what I believe Mahal has told me and your brother, than what an old priest, who appears to have a personal vendetta over the way I run my kingdom, has to say on his behalf,” he says sharply.

Fíli blinks hard at his uncle. He does not know the Kehnar very well at all; has only briefly interacted with him during official ceremonies. And he had no idea that such strong feelings ran between Gorm and Thorin. He sighs, realising just how much he still has to learn. Politics are not just about rules and tradition. They are also about dealing with real emotions, disagreements, and conflicts of interest. “Why does he not agree with how you run your affairs, Thorin?” he asks. “I did not think that the Kehnar took an interest in such matters.”

Thorin snorts as he chews the dried meat. “Neither did I. I don’t know, Fíli. But I intend to find out.”

Fíli nods at that. But nonetheless he is worried now. Thorin has taught him what is good and what is not from a very young age. And that there are repercussions when you are misbehaving. MÎ targhu, Thorin had taught him those repercussions oft enough! So to now watch his uncle do something with his brother that is considered so heinous that it could warrant the death penalty ... Can that really be true? Would their people really choose to kill their own because they love each other? Surely that is not right.

“Fíli, it will be alright,” Thorin tries to sooth the obvious anxiety in his nephew. “Everyone will be busy with my coronation and then the rebuilding of our home here. No-one will care what I do in my own chambers. I promise you that we will be careful. I mean your brother no harm, you must believe me when I say this.”

“I do, Thorin.”

“I love him.”

Fíli stares at Thorin wide-eyed. And the look in those bright eyes tells him everything he needs to know. That Thorin is not out to risk Kíli’s life for his own pleasure. Quite the opposite. That he is willing to risk his own life because of his love for him.

***

Normally Fíli would be working in the blacksmith's with Thorin all day and help him lock up, but after their private conversation Thorin had told Fíli to return to home and have the rest of the afternoon off with Kíli. He could see how worried Fíli was over his little brother and it hurt him to think he was the cause of it.

He finds Kíli working in the armoury as he did most days. When he was not hunting it was his duty as Captain of the Guard to ensure that their weapon stock were kept at the ready, even more so nowadays when rumours of bandits attacks had become more frequent. He was still officially in training. Dwalin was usually close by to keep an eye on him, to guide him and give him new tasks to complete. But today the older dwarf is away on patrol himself and so Kíli is alone.

“Fee!” he calls out when he sees his blond brother appear. “Why aren’t you with Thorin?”

“I was. He gave me the afternoon off. It’s still light outside. Would you like to go for a quick hike? It has been ages since we have been out together.”

Kíli puts down the bow he was stringing and grins widely. “Absolutely!”

It feels great to be out and about together, chasing each other across the open plains towards the forest edge. On this side of the fortress the woods are within easy reach on horseback and before long they are dismounted and sat on a tree trunk eating some of the sweet dried berries that Kíli had managed to sneak out.

“So what do you think about us staying here in Khagal’abbad?” Fíli begins, but the archer has more burning news on his mind that he wants to share. He had wanted to tell Fíli since this morning but there had been no opportunity without risk of interruption or being overheard. “Thorin took me last night!” he blurts out, making Fíli almost choke on his berries.

“Kíli!” his brother hisses, flicking his head around. But as expected they appear to be alone. “Hold your tongue. You should not speak about this out in the open!”

Kíli frowns at him. “I thought you wanted to know! You have been pestering me for long enough to hear what Thorin is like in bed!”

Fíli smothers Kíli’s mouth with his hand and brings his lips close to his brother’s ear. “Kíli, be quiet or I swear I will rip your tongue out myself!”

Kíli fights him, but Fíli had always been the stronger of the two of them and eventually his brother gives up the struggle. When he slowly releases him, Kíli jumps up and scowls angrily at him. “What is the matter with you?!”

Fíli jumps up too and stares up at his brother. “Mother told me.”

“Told you what?”

“What would happen if anyone found out about the two of you. This is serious, Kee. I had no idea how serious. Do you even know? Is getting laid really worth risking your life for?”

Kíli flares. “How dare you make him sound like some cheap fuck! I am in love with him. He is mahdulyasthûnê!”

Fíli stares back. He opens his mouth, but he does not know what to say.

“There is no-one here to hear it, brother,” Kíli continues his tirade. “Already I have to keep my mouth shut and skulk around like a thief, just because I love someone. Don’t you think I am sick of that? I have just had the greatest night of my life and you have to ruin it with more tales of doom and despair!” Tears are glistening in his deep brown eyes now, whether from hurt or anger or both he is not sure. “You are the only one I  _can_  tell! Unlike you I can’t brag to every buck who cares to listen that I got laid last night.” His last sentence is just a sob, “I just wanted you to be happy for me!” And he turns on his heels and runs towards the nearest tree, climbing it like a frightened squirrel until he has disappeared into the branches of the evergreen.

“KilI!” Fíli shouts from the ground below. “Get down here!”

“No! Go away!”

“Please. I am sorry. Come down here now.”

“No!”

He can hear the rustling overhead and catches a glimpse of his brothers boots. “I can see you up there.”

“Then come and get me,” Kíli challenges.

Fíli had never been as good at climbing trees as his brother had. In fact the last time he had attempted it he had slipped and fallen and nearly broken his arm and Thorin had given him the worst admonishment he had had in a very long time. But he is not going to give up that easily and soon he finds himself on the branch below his brother.

“Well well, look at you,” Kíli teases. “Amazing the things you can do when you want to.”

Fíli glares at him and climbs the last bit until he is seated next to his brother on the thick branch.

“Why did you follow me up here?” Kíli enquires. “You hate climbing trees.”

“I do. But I love you. And I am sorry if I hurt you. I know you were excited to tell me and I did not mean to steal your thunder. I am just worried about you.”

“You have been worried about me from the minute I learnt to walk, Fee. You worry far too much. I know there is a risk in what Thorin and I are doing. But everything we do in life carries a risk. You could hurt yourself on the forge. I could injure myself hunting. A dragon could come and burn our home down tomorrow. We cannot stop living just in case something bad happens. And I do mean it when I say I love him. He is everything to me, Fee. I would die for him.”

“Please don’t.”

Kíli stares ahead. These are not just empty words. If it came to it, he would. He would happily give his life for Thorin, he is absolutely certain of this.

Fíli glances around, but there is no-one else within hearing distance. “Alright, tell me then, little brother. What was he like? What was  _it_  like? Did it hurt as much as they say it does? “

Kíli giggles, “That's a lot of questions all of a sudden, Fee. It was... “ he sighs blissfully as he recalls the feeling of Thorin taking him, “wonderful. It really was. A little sore when he first entered me. But we took it real slow and oh, Fíli, he felt so good! He made me come twice! “

Fíli smirks, “You little beast. Such a horny little rascal you are. “

“Says you! “ Kíli cries out and shoves his brother, careful not to push him off the branch. “I hear you have quite a reputation of being a fervent lover, big brother. And I will never catch up with that!”

“How did he take you?”

Kíli sways softly on the branch as his eyes go dreamy again. “First he lay on top of me. And then he turned me onto my side and took me from behind. He is amazing, Fíli. So tender and yet so firm.”

“I cannot believe you are the first to be bedded by the king. You’d think you were something special,” Fíli teases.

Kíli scowls, but then they both chuckle. And Kíli shuffles a little closer until his brother’s arm wraps around his shoulder.

“I wish we could just be together like the other soulmates,” Kíli sighs. “I don’t like feeling like I have done wrong when I am so happy when I am with him.”

“I know, brother. I wish for that too.”

“You don’t think it is wrong, do you? You don’t think I am a bad dwarf for loving him?”

Fíli shakes his head. “No. But what I think matters not.”

“It matters to me.”

***

“I picked up on an interesting conversation today,” the skinny guy with the thin black moustache brags to his drinking mates. It is crowded and noisy in the tavern tonight and the ale is flowing merrily already.

“What’s that then?” his buddy enquires as he tries to pinch the barmaid’s behind, earning him a slap and a load of laughter from those around him.

“You know that dwarf that runs the smithy up town? The one who claims he’s some sort of prince.”

The others laugh loudly again. They all know who he means. “That short-ass is a right stuck up little so-and-so,” another, bald headed man, chips in. “If he is some sort of royalty then howcome he is a sweating like a pig working his butt off in our smithy for some meagre wage, eh? I don’t think he has it all there.”

“You’re wrong,” a blond with a large scar across his cheek says. “He is a dwarf prince alright. They say they fled their mountain home in the far northeast when a dragon destroyed it. They live up in the mountains here now.”

“Shut up, you two,” the first growls. He bends himself further forward, begging the others to listen closely. “You know the blond one who started working there a few years back. The one with the funny braids. He is his nephew right. Now it just so happened that I walked round the back of the smithy earlier and I heard them talking. Could hear them clear as day through the vents. They were talking about sin and crime and a whole lot of political dwarf-nonsense I did not understand. But the older one, he said he could be executed for what he’d done.”

There are gasps around.

“What did he do?” the blond asks.

“I am not sure. But then he went on to say that there was going to be a coronation. That means he is going to be king, you understand! And dwarf kings have gold!”

“What has that got to do with us?”

“Listen, you idiot! If there is something that he does not want others to find out, something that we know about …”

“Oooh, you want to extort money from him!” A large, wide man who has not spoken up until now interjects. “I like the sound of that! So do you have any idea what it is?”

“All I know is that it has something to do with his other nephew. He said they could both be executed for it. I think I heard him say that he loves him.”

The blond spits his ale across the table. “You mean … The dirty bastard!”

“Oh shut up. Like you never wanted to fuck your cousin. And anyway, they’re dwarves. We all know their feasts are one big orgy,” the bald one grins.

“Well maybe them short ones are less loose than we think they are,” the initiator of the conversation says. “Whatever it is, we just need to find out more. And then that pint-sized asshole is going to be handing over a lot of that dwarvish gold to make us keep his dirty little secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kun irak'adad - Yes, uncle  
> ukhan - priest  
> MÎ targhu - by his beard  
> ‘amad - mother


	19. Threat

“Hey, short stuff!” Ryle, shouts across to the shy red-haired dwarf-boy. “Oy, you there, dwarf!”

This time the boy turns around in surprise. “Me?” he asks softly, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route or hoping there is someone else behind him the man had been calling out to.

But Ryle smiles a bright smile at him, although the display of his rotten teeth does nothing to make him look amicable. “Aye, you! Come ‘ere, boy. What’s yer name?”

“O… Ori,” the red-haired dwarf stammers as he shuffles over. He is no boy. Even amongst his people he has recently matured at the tender age of seventy-five, being almost twice the age of the tall man staring down at him. But with his blunt haircut, his thick red braids and his chin curtain he looks younger than he is, even to his own kind.

He feels uncomfortable under the broad stare of the dark-haired man, flanked by two even taller blonds. What do these men of the valley want from him? He comes here every week on the same day at the same time to purchase supplies; parchment and ink but also foods and other items that cannot be bought within the markets of Fahamkhagal’abbad. He likes to come and go as quickly as possible. Most of the townspeople are not unkind to his people as the dwarves bring trade and skill to their town. But they intimidate him nonetheless with their tall build and odd customs.

“Wanna earn a few coins?” Ryle asks.

Ori cocks his head. “Doing what, master bazrûn?” he asks shyly. He jumps as the man puts his hand on his shoulder, dragging him alongside him in a conspiring kind of manner as he bends himself low to his ear. 

“My friends and I, we just wanted to learn a little about dwarf culture,” Ryle grins. “We are almost neighbours and yet we know so little about y’ little people. Us valley-folk, we don’t come up to the mountains much.”

Ori wants very much to shrug the invasive hand from his shoulder and pull himself away from the man with the stinking breath. But he dares not. “W… what can I do?”

“Come, lemme buy y’a drink and then we can talk,” Ryle winks at his mates as he steers the reluctant dwarf towards one of the backstreet taverns without waiting for an answer to his invitation.

Ori tries to make himself even smaller as he is squished between the two broad-build blonds, one with a scar across his cheek and the other with a toothless grin. He wishes he could just slide under the table and run away. His eyes flick around the dingy tavern. It is nothing like the noisy, joyful taverns of the dwarves, which feel warm and welcoming. This feels oppressive and unsafe. Like anyone here would put a knife in your back for looking at them in the wrong way.

“So…” Ryle says as he shoves a mug of the weak ale that the valley-men brew in Ori’s direction, “there’s just a couple of questions we wanna ask.”

Ori looks at him carefully, not liking where this is going or being stuck here between these men’s folk for that matter.

“Ey, don’t look so worried lad,” Griff, the blond on his right with the scar across his face grins. “Nothing to worry yerself about.”

“No, nothing at all,” Ryle smiles, again showing his less than perfect dentures. “We just heard some rumours about a coronation. Is that true?”

At that Ori smiles brightly. “Oh yes, master bazrûn. Thorin Oakenshield, the brave son of Thraín, is going to be crowned king of Durin’s folk!”

“Is he the black-haired dwarf who works in the forge up town?”

“Yes he is,” Ori beams eagerly.

Ryle smirks at his two companions. “So the old king is dead then is he?” Ori looks at him in confusion at that. “That this … Thorin? … is being crowned king now?” he explains his assumption.

Ori shakes his head, “You misunderstand, master bazrûn. Thorin was going to take us back to the Lonely Mountain, beyond the Misty Mountains. Our rightful home. Once he had killed the dragon. His father was lost long ago on the same quest. But Thorin has declared the Blue Mountains our home now. And the Council has accepted his claim to Durin’s throne.”

Much of what Ori has just said goes straight over Ryle’s head. But the important bit, that this _Thorin_ is going to crowned some sort of king amongst the dwarf, he had got. “Have they now?” Ryle narrows his eyes. Who does this dwarf think he is, calling himself king over what have not been dwarvish lands for centuries. Even more reason to teach the arrogant brat some humility. Then he smiles a sickly sweet smile again, “And will there be a queen at his side?”

Ori laughs shyly. “It does not work like that, master bazrûn. Us dwarves, we do not bind ourselves unless we find our soulmate. Only the bravest amongst us find their soulmate during their mortal life. Most of us have to wait until we kneel before Mahal. Aulë.”

Ryle, Griff and Forbes exchange a sneering glance. For folk who live such long lives they place a ridiculous amount of importance on the afterlife. “I see… So your _king_ … he is not very brave after all then?” Ryle smirks.

Ori flashes a bright red. “He … I … I did not mean that. It is not for us mortals to decide.”

The men around him laugh, making him feel as small as a mouse. He cringes as the man to his right slaps him across the back, pushing the air from his lungs.

“We’re just teasing ya,” the other blond man laughs. “So ehm … if there is no queen, is there anyone else who warms the king’s bed at night?”

Ori’s mouth falls open in astonishment. Such insolence! Do these men honestly think that he would share such private information about his king with these town’s men? Then again Thorin’s celibacy is widely known. It has been an honourable sacrifice he has made during their exile. And he decides it is the right thing to uphold his king’s honour.  “There is not,” he answers quietly, flushing even brighter at that. “He … he withholds his pleasure for the honour of those who died in the Great Battle.”

Forbes spits out his ale as he laughs loudly. But Ryle has a glint in his eyes.  _So the so-called dwarf prince is playing the honourable virgin is he? That is hardly the impression he got from overhearing the conversation with his nephew the other day._ But he keeps his thoughts to himself for now. “That is very honourable indeed,” he says sarcastically. “Now, just one last question. So if dwarves do not marry, do they just fuck around?”

Ori chokes softly. Are all  _bazr_ _â_ _n_ this crude? Why are these men asking him such inappropriate questions? “We … we are free to court,” he stutters.

“I see. Anyone?”

“N … no. There are a lot of rules.”

“Really now? What rules?”

Ori’s eyes flick about. He wants to leave now. He does not want to talk about such private customs to these men of the valley. But he is trapped. “Only one of higher rank can make an offer of courtship to a lower ranking dwarf,” he almost whispers. “Courtship remains within the communities outside the festival periods. And a dwarf who has been blessed with his soulmate will not be allowed to court another,” he cringes, knowing he has revealed far too much about their sacred customs already.

Ryle has no idea what either of that means and he doesn’t care either.  “What about family? Can you  _court_ say a sister? Or … an uncle?”

Ori’s eyes grow large. “N… no! That would not be acceptable.”

“No? What would happen if one did?” Ryle leans himself closer to the nervous creature, grinning menacingly at him.

“W… why do you want to know?” Ori squeaks, shifting uncomfortably. He has never done anything wrong like that! He has always been a good, law-abiding dwarf.

“Just answer the question,” Frobes growls at him.

“I … I don’t know. They would be brought to justice. I am not sure what the punishment is for laying with one’s own blood …” he cringes at the sick notion. “But it … it would be severe. It is a sin.”

“A sin?” Ryle leans back in satisfaction, mulling this over. “Thanks, master dwarf. Y’have been most kind in teaching us about yer customs,” he grins wickedly. He takes a small pouch from his belt and throws it across the table. “For yer troubles.” And he nods to Griff to make way to allow the red-head to leave. The dwarf needs no telling twice. He is up and out of the tavern like a ferret.

Ryle leans forward to his companions. “So...” he smirks. “If our dwarf prince is doing the dirty with his nephew, sounds like he could be in a whole load’a trouble if someone found out … What do ye reckon boys, shall we pay the smithy a visit tonight, when the _king_ is about to lock up?”

***

“Apologies,  _bazrân_ , we are closed now,” Fíli says to the men who have banged hard on the blacksmith’s door. “Please come back tomorrow morning and we will be happy to serve you.” He is about the push the door closed again to finish helping his uncle pack up so that they can go home.

But the dark-haired man puts his foot between the door and the frame preventing him from shutting it and then he pushes it open hard, sending Fíli tumbling backwards. “Oh I think your uncle would very much like to serve us now when he hears my business proposal,” he grins a dirty grin at the young prince. “Where is he?”

Thorin steps out from the shadows, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Fíli, take the saddlebags out,” he says calmly in his deep voice and nods his head to the back of the smithy ordering him to leave them. Fíli looks at him with worry in his eyes; he does not want to leave his uncle alone with these menacing looking valley-men. But Thorin’s stern look tells him he is not to question him and he reluctantly leaves to saddle the ponies. 

Once his nephew has left them alone, Thorin knits his brow together at the dark-haired man in front of him. He knows this is going to be trouble. Certain things cut across the boundaries of any race or culture and the cold look in those hollow eyes together with the crooked smirk are enough of a warning that these men are not here to invite him around for dinner. “As my nephew has told you, we are closed now,” he says evenly.

Ryle grins again, “We know that, dwarf.” He nods to his mates to close the sliding door behind him, leaving the five of them in a stifling semi-darkness. But he forgets that Thorin has the upper hand now, his race used to the dim light of mountain halls dug deep into the earth itself. And as he sticks out his hand to grab the dwarf by his tunic, Thorin’s hand clasps around his arm and twists him into a painful lock.

“Do not make such a mistake again,  _bazr_ _û_ _n_ ,” he growls softly, “or you will need a medic rather than a smith to put you back together again.” He lets go of the man and shoves him back. “Now leave,” and he turns around to finish what he was doing.

But this time four strong arms grab him hard by both shoulders and push him roughly onto the floor. He may be much stronger than these untrained men of the valleys, but with two holding him down and the heavy bald man straddling his back he is unable to move enough to get a grip. And he coughs as the brown boots of his dark-haired nemesis kick dust into his face. “Now now,” Ryle smirks, “y’are a feisty one aren’t ye? And y’ve not even heard my offer. That’s no way to start negotiations now is it, dwarf?” He spits the last word into the dust, little specks landing in Thorin’s hair.

“Negotiate what?” Thorin groans as the weight of the man on top of him in making it hard to draw in air.

Ryle kneels down, motioning his friends to loosen their grip just a little. He pulls Thorin’s head up by his hair, making him face him awkwardly. “Now, are ya going to be a good dwarf and listen to my proposal? We can do this with ye lying here in the dirt like the filthy mountain digger y’are. Or … if you promise me ya’ll behave I’ll let you up.”

Thorin scowls, but nods as far as the grip on his hair allows him. Ryle smiles broadly and then he rams Thorin’s face hard against the floor underneath, listening with satisfaction to the sound of his nose breaking, before he motions his henchman to let go of their prisoner. The two blonds hoist Thorin to his feet, but hold onto him, much to Thorin’s fury as blood runs into his beard.

“So…,” Ryle brings his face close to Thorin’s, breathing his dirty breath into his face, “you seem to think that you can call yourself king of the mountains here?  _Our_  mountains?”

Thorin narrows his eyes, flinching as the pain shoots through his face. But he is not going to give this piece of filth the satisfaction and pushes the pain to the back of his mind. “Khagal’abbad have been dwarvish lands since the dawn of days you ignorant human,” he hisses. “Men-folk have never lived there. My people and I settled here before your father was even born, you man-child. Do not claim to know what you are talking about when it comes to the heritage of my people.”

Ryle slaps the dwarf hard across his already broken face, but he hardly flinches. “Ye think y’re really quite som’mat, don’t ya,” he growls back. “Claiming yer high and mightiness over yer heritage. Well, that’s interesting. As I understand ye don’t take yer own customs and laws all that seriously, dwarf-prince!”

At that Thorin stills and he looks deeply into the cold eyes in front of him. “What do you mean by that?” he asks suspiciously.

The look on his captor’s face is pure evil as he grins at him with satisfaction. “How much do you value yer life and that of yer secret lover, dwarf?”

Thorin’s heart skips a beat, but he tries to keep the stoic mask in place. These towns’ folk cannot know about him and Kíli. How could they? Kíli has only been to the town a handful of times and never with Thorin.

He stares back defiantly, but Ryle just laughs. “Not such a cheeky tongue now, have we?”

“I do not know of what you speak,” Thorin says, trying to sound calm and composed, although worry is fluttering through his chest.

“Really now? I thought dwarves had a good memory. Have ya already forgotten that ya told that pretty blond nephew of yers that ye love his brother?” At that Thorin’s eyes grow dark and although he keeps his composure Ryle knows he has hit gold. “Ah yes, a truly beautiful love story, I’m sure,” he smiles deviously. “And that whilst  _yer people_ , he sneers, “seem to think you are the holy virgin.” He strokes his thumb along Thorin’s cheek. “I wonder how they would feel if they learnt the truth? Hm?”

Thorin draws spit and spits into the man’s face. “Don’t touch me, you filth!” he growls.

But Ryle grabs his chin hard as he wipes the spittle of his own cheek. “That is the last time ye get to do that, prince charming,” he smirks menacingly. “I think it is time ye learnt that ye really wanna keep me as yer best friend. Cuz I have also learnt that dwarves don’t approve of one of their own fucking his nephew. That in fact they are quite repulsed by that idea. Imagine if they found out that their soon-to-be- virgin-king is in fact getting fingered by his own blood?” He runs a finger along Thorin’s throat, smiling an evil smile, “I believe that it could cost ya and yer little lover yer heads.”

Thorin thrashes in vain against the men holding him. But he cannot fight himself loose.

“So that got me thinking,” Ryle continues as he walks away from Thorin, leaving the dwarf prince scowling helplessly at his back, “how much ye value yer lover’s life? How much of yer gold y’are willing to give to me to keep yer dirty business under wraps?” He swirls round.

At Thorin just laughs. “Gold? You think the halls of my home are filled with gold?” He shakes his head at the idiot in front of him. “Do you honestly think that I would be working in this filthy town if I still possessed such wealth? I am sorry to disappoint you, bintarglulkh, but blackmailing me is not going to earn you the riches you seek. I have nothing to give you.”

Ryle flashes at this flaw in his plan. He should have thought of that. He should have realised that if the dwarf prince had gold he would not be getting his hands dirty like this. He flusters for a moment, unsure what to do next. But he is not going to give up that easily. “I do not believe ya,” he spits. “Ye may not have halls full of gold. But if y’re king then y’have power.” He steps close to Thorin again, looking down on him. “I am sure ye can convince yer subjects to help ya out in these hard times. Ye have four suns to bring me five hundred silver coins,” he grins. “Or ye may find it hard to put a crown on when yer head’s in a bucket,  _king_.” He spits in Thorin’s face, just because he can. Then he nods to his buddies, “Just give him a little reminder, so he won’t forget to keep his promise.”

***

Fíli watches the men leave and storms inside. “Thorin!” he calls out as he finds his uncle slumped on the floor.

But Thorin scrambles to his feet, swatting his hand away. “I am fine,” he says, but flinches even as he says so.

“You are not fine,” Fíli scolds. “What did they do to you? Why were they here?”

Thorin looks at his nephew. He does not want Fíli to see his weakness. It is bad enough that Kíli has found his weak spot. But he needs to be strong for his heir. “Honestly, I am fine, Fee,” he tries to smile, but the reassurance of his words fades as he flinches at his broken nose and he spits big heaps of blood into the dust.

Fíli wraps his arms around Thorin and for a moment his uncle freezes under the unexpected touch. He has not held Fíli this close for years. But after the initial surprise, he is grateful for the comforting embrace and he wraps Fíli in his arms. “I am sorry, little Fee,” he whispers. “I have done your brother such wrong.”

“No, Thorin,” Fíli answers to Thorin’s surprise. “You have made my brother so happy. That cannot be wrong.”

But Thorin sighs. “I wish it were so.”

Fíli releases the embrace now and looks up at his uncle. “What has this got to do with Kíli? Why did these men hurt you, uncle?”

Thorin runs his hand through Fíli’s blond locks, playing with the braids in them. “They heard us talking the other day. When I told you that I love your brother. I should have been more careful. I had not thought …” His face clouds over. “I seemed to have stopped thinking a long time ago,” he growls in frustration with his own carelessness and flaw. “I should never have …” He sits down heavily, flinching again as a pain shoots through his back and his right leg. He smiles softly as Fíli kneels by him, so much like he used to when he was a cosset, knelt in front of the fire as Thorin had told him and his brother stories of Azsâlul'abad. He softly strokes Fíli’s hair again and suddenly he feels weary and sad that those days are gone. And much of that is his own fault.

“Thorin?” Fíli takes his hand and asks softly as his uncle seems to have stopped talking mid-sentence.

Thorin is shaken out of his thoughts by the touch. He looks at Fíli as the remorse fills him. “They want money,” he states. “In order to keep my secret.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred silver coins.”

Fíli gasps. That is a fortune! They do not have such money. In Azsâlul'abad, yes. In Azsâlul'abad lies the wealth of their people, buried under the feet of a fire-breathing dragon. “How will you …?” he asks.

“I will think of something,” Thorin sighs. What, he does not know yet. The men had suggested he’d levy the ransom from his people. But he could never do that. How could he take what little they have in order to protect his sin? He attempts to smile reassuringly at his nephew as he drags him back into his arms. “Don’t worry, little one. I will think of something,” he says again as he plants a kiss on Fíli’s hair, groaning as the touch against his nose sends a jolt of pain through him. “Now let us go home. Dis will be worried.”

***

He had hoped to be able to sneak back into the mountain fortress and head straight for Oín’s quarters to get his injuries seen to. He had hoped to avoid bumping into the two dwarves he least wants to see him hurt like this before he has a chance to clean himself up a little so that he will look slightly less battered than he does, with the blood still clotting in his facial hair. But as soon as they leave the stables Kíli comes running up to them through the long hallway.

“Thorin, Fíli, you are back! You …” he comes to a skidding hold as soon as he gets close enough to notice Thorin’s bruised and bloodied face. “Thorin!! By Mahal, what has happened??!” he exclaims with fright, his eyes bulging at the sight of his lover in such a state. And Thorin cringes; this has not at all gone as planned.

But before Thorin has a chance to reply, Fíli jumps in. “Oh Kee, we’re so glad to be back. We were ambushed by robbers on the way back from the valley. There were four of them and they threatened to kill me if we did not hand over today’s takings and one put a knife to my throat. But uncle Thorin,” he smiles brightly at his uncle who just stares at him in wonder at the fantastic story, “he took three of them on at once! As you can see he got a few scrapes at he did so, but he gave them back twice what he got. No three times!  And they fled in fear of their lives.” He throws his arms around Thorin. “I owe you my life, uncle,” he smiles. He knows instinctively that Kíli should not know the truth for fear of him doing something stupid. That until Thorin has figured out a way to deal with the extortion threat this has to remain a secret between the two of them.

Thorin returns the embrace tentatively; embarrassed to be given credit for something that never happened. But Kíli too joins in the hug and he silently accepts being wrapped in the loving warmth of both his nephews.

“Now, I should go and see Oín,” he says quietly after a few moments. “Get cleaned up before I show my face at the dinner table or Dís will have a fright.”

Fíli is the first to let go. “Yes you should, Thorin,” he smiles, giving him a surreptitious wink before he turns to his brother. “Come Kee, will you help me carry these bags whilst Thorin goes to speak with Oín?”

Kíli looks up at Thorin, his eyes filled with worry. “I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers.

Thorin gives him a tired smile, “Do as your brother says, Kíli. I will join you for dinner very shortly.”

Kíli cannot let go of him just yet. “Are you sure you will be okay?” he asks softly.

Thorin gently pries his arms loose. “I am not going to die from a few scrapes and knocks, Kee. It looks worse than it is. Now go with Fíli please so that I can go and clean myself up,” he says quite sternly. When Kíli still hesitates, he adds, “Did I raise you as a worrier or warrior, irakdashat?” It is a phrase he had used for Fíli oft enough when he was younger, but this time it is Kíli who needs reminding.

At that Kíli reluctantly lets go. “A warrior, Thorin,” he says softly, feeling reprimanded, and follows his brother, carrying one of the heavy saddlebags.

Fíli almost regrets his story as Kíli begins to interrogate him about every detail. He just hopes he has done well enough to make it sound believable and that he hasn’t contradicted himself somewhere. But Kíli seems too worried about Thorin to notice if he has.

“He will be okay, won’t he Fee?” he asks for the hundredth time.

Fíli throws his free arm around him. “Of course he will, Kee. He is one of the strongest and bravest dwarves we know, right?”

And Kíli nods, although the worried frown does not leave his forehead. It’s not even the fact that something had happened to Thorin that upset him for indeed they were raised as warriors. It was the fact that he had not been there to fight alongside him. To defend him and kill anyone who had dared harm his king, his beloved.

***

“Thorin!” Oín gasps as his king stands in the doorway, congealed blood clinging to his face and his nose pointing at an unnatural angle. As he steps into the room, the healer notices that the dwarf prince is limping a little too. “Mî targê, Thorin, what has happened to you? You look like you’ve been in a brawl!”

Thorin smiles curtly and decides to uphold Fíli’s version of events as he briefly talks about the so-called robbery that led to his injuries. In the meantime Oín has prepared some bowls with warm water and herbs starts to dab a wet cloth against Thorin’s face. Thorin draws in a sharp breath, but grits his teeth and lets his old friend do his job.

“I am going to have to reset your nose,” Oín states matter-of-factly. Thorin appreciates his calm and to the point demeanour. It makes what is to come no less uncomfortable, but he values Oín treating him like the warrior he is and not show him any unwanted pity or disapproval. “Do you want me to count to three?” Oín asks.

“Just do it,” Thorin growls, but when Oín suddenly presses hard against his nose he bites back a curse.

“There ya go,” the greying healer smiles. “Looking much better already. Now let me have a look at your leg.”

***

When he turns up at the dinner table Kíli is ready to jump up and fly around his neck, but Thorin, Dis and Fíli all simultaneously call out his name in warning, making him shrink back in reprimand.

“The boys told me what happened,” Dis smiles warmly. “Thank you, brother.” He can just imagine that by now Fíli and Kíli have turned him into some great hero and that in the tale the assault has probably grown close to an army of men. Thorin nods curtly, embarrassed still to be painted the hero in light of what had truly happened. “Are you badly hurt?” his sister asks a little concerned as she studies his swollen face.

“It is nothing,” Thorin waves his hand. “A few scrapes and a broken nose. Oín has fixed me up already. I will live,” he smirks. In a way it is nice that his kin are so worried about his well-being after such a minor altercation. It reminds him that the days of war and bloodshed are long since forgotten by his sister and never experienced by his nephews. Peacetime brings an odd sense of concern over such minor hurts, which would not have even been looked at by the medics in times of war.

“Maybe you should ask Dwalin to accompany you to town from now on. The roads are getting dangerous,” Dís suggests.

Thorin’s face grows dark and he snarls at her, “I do not need an escort. I can look after myself well enough!”

“Do not get all proud with me, brother,” his sister scowls back. “I care for your safety as much as I care for Fíli’s. Besides, we cannot have you crowned king looking as bruised as you do now.”

“The coronation is not until the start of Mamahduldanakhamrâg. This will be healed by then,” Thorin retorts.

Dis snorts. “Nonetheless I would feel better if you had someone accompany you on the road.”

Thorin says no more, annoyed that his sister should question his ability to look after himself and Fíli in front of his nephews. Although in fairness the state he is in her worries are not unfounded.

As soon as they have finished the evening meal in stubborn silence Thorin excuses himself. But as he walks down the corridor he can hear Kíli’s lithe step behind him. He stops and turns around. And when Kíli catches up with him he stops him at arm’s length. “I need to rest now, galtith,” he smiles softly. “I will be fine, I promise.”

“But Thorin …” Kíli whines softly, but his uncle places a finger against his lips.

“Be good, little Kee. We will talk tomorrow. Zann galikh.” At that he turns away and strides in long quick strides towards his private chambers.

Once inside his own rooms he bolts the door, expecting Kíli to follow him despite his instruction. Sure enough he hears the door handle being tried a short while later. His heart screams as he does his best to ignore the soft tapping against the door that follows. He would love nothing more than to let his nephew in and feel his warmth wash away all the anger and the disgrace and the hurt of the day. But those events have now shaken him back to his senses. What they are doing is wrong. It is delicious and wonderful and everything he has ever wanted, but it is also unaccepted amongst his people. The very people who place such trust and belief in him and will see him crowned king in less than a moon cycle. He has already betrayed that trust and dishonoured their faith in him. He knows he cannot undo what he has already done. And he has no regrets for Kíli is his One, his soulmate and the love of his life. But tonight he needs to be alone to sort things out in his head and decide what he is going to do next.

He silently begs Kíli to go away and return to his own chambers. Yet his heart bleeds as the tapping eventually stops. His hands are gripping his chair, his knuckles turning white as he has to stop himself from jumping up, flinging the door open and calling after Kíli. But when all goes quiet he is left alone with his unsatisfied wants and his demons once more. In a sickening kind of way it feels familiar. All is as it always was. Before Kíli came of age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fahamkhagal’abbad – North Blue Mountains  
> bazrûn – valley-man (from bizar, meaning dale, which is old English for valley). Plural – bazrân  
> bintarglulkh – beardless-idiot  
> Mamahduldanakhamrâg – Blessed Green Fest or Spring Fest.  
> galtith – lit. Little Boar. term used by an older dwarf to address a younger dwarf or a boy  
> Zann galikh – Goodnight


	20. The Right Thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akhminizi Delorita for beta-reading!!!

Sleep will not come to him that night. He knows there is no point in even attempting it; his brain is racing at a hundred knots as the events of the day play over and over in his mind. He sits in his arm chair, watching the fire slowly die down to smouldering embers as he draws on his pipe thinking about every possible which way to resolve the situation he has found himself in.

Only briefly had he considered giving in to the demand of his abusers. Five hundred silver coins; it is simply not an option. Firstly he does not have that kind of money and he has no way to come by it either in but four days. But more importantly he will never give in to extortion; not by any enemy of note and certainly not by some lowlife miscreants.  He will soon be king and he cannot show such weakness to his enemies. Today they will hold him to ransom over Kíli; what will it be tomorrow? No, he must never yield to such demands and weaken his leadership. It is neither in his nature nor his upbringing. He was raised as the grandson of King Thrór, the last of Zebdâr Khuzdul Ablâkla. And in his position he cannot afford to be seen giving in under the threats of some common thugs. 

The second thought that had come to him was just as improbable as the first. He would love nothing more than to run an axe through the four men who had humiliated him so. Especially the dark-haired piece of filth that seemed to be the leader of the witless three that somehow had managed to pin him down. Even if he didn’t get his own hands dirty, he knew that Dwalin would get it taken care of without question if he demanded it. But although he would have no sleepless nights over ridding the world of such troublemakers, he cannot risk the possible damage it would do to the relations between the dwarves of Khagal’abbad and the town’s folk. He does not know enough of the customs of men and their judicial systems. He does know, however, that the relationship between his people and the bazrân is a fragile one, based on a mutual need and even greater distrust. If it was somehow found that the dwarves had murdered four of their people, even if they were the lowest amongst them, would they see it as an act of war? He should demand for the men-council to bring their own to justice for the insult they had given him. But he could neither explain to them why these men had attacked them nor did he think the bazrân acknowledged his status enough to care. And so he is left with no option. He will not risk everything he has just offered to his subjects – a safe and peaceful home, for his pride. Not when in his heart of hearts he knows that the punishment he had received for his sin is but a scratch compared to what his own people would do to him were they to found out about Kíli.

He blows out a long breath of smoke. Then what is he to do?

He would normally speak to Balin about any matter that caused him such a headache, to get some sensible, pragmatic advice. Or he would run his ponderings by Dwalin, just to get matters of his chest. But what is the point? Telling Balin what happened will just affirm his friend’s opinion about his poor decisions. And Dwalin … he would probably march over and rip the bastards limb from limb even without his prompting. Neither would help the situation or make Thorin feel any better.

He slowly raises himself to his feet. After sitting still for so long his injuries have seized up and he winces when he puts weight on his twisted ankle. The night candle tells him it is well past midnight and other than the night guard all will be asleep by now. With a little struggle, as it feels like he has pulled every single muscle in his body, he manages to pull on his thick fur overcoat and he leaves his chambers.

The small offering room is abandoned as he’d expected. This is where his bucks go to make their small sacrifices and to ask for help from Mahal, be it for health or offspring, for a good harvest or wealth. He removes his boots and washes his hands in the little bowl in the antechamber before he steps barefoot into the slightly larger area beyond.

“Shamukh Mahal,” he whispers as he lays his fist against his heart.

The large basalt idol shimmers in the light of the torches hanging off the walls, which are always kept lit. The tiny gemstones set in the stone hammer hovering over the altar give the illusion of sparks flying off the forging tool. It is a beautiful place that feels both strong and calm and Thorin feels a welcome settle peace inside him as he stands in the shadow of his Maker.

“Nekhmi d’azur khama aryâtzu, Zabadê. _I have come to ask for your advice, my Lord,_ ” he says softly as he steps close towards the altar. He pulls his 'uhaskhajamhenaf from his belt and brings it towards his palm held over the copper offerbowl with a small hole in the centre. “Zabirasakini zarru ‘ala damâmê. _Will you accept this offer of my blood.”_

He draws in his breath as he runs the sharp blade across his palm and squeezing his fist he lets the droplets of lifeblood drip into the bowl; a precious sacrifice in return for Mahal’s wisdom. He pulls back his hand and brings his bloody fist to his lips for a moment as he waits for the offering to run down the bowl into the stone below as His Maker accepts his sacrifice.

“Zabadu Dehar, I … I am confused. I listened to your advice. You gave me my blessing and I for that am very grateful. But …,” he swallows. He does not want to offend Mahal and questioning His blessing sounds exactly that, “But Kíli is my blood, ‘Adad. My sister-son. The laws that You gave to ‘Adad Durin say that we cannot be together. Please, tell me what I should do, Zabadê. Please explain what I do not understand. I want to do the right thing by Your bidding …”

He holds his breath, waiting for an answer, in whichever form it may come to him. A thought. A whisper. An image … But there is nothing. There is utter silence in the room and inside his head.

He sighs, beginning to feel frustrated. He grabs the rim of the bowl as he takes a deep breath. “Zabirasakhjami Zabad bahir. _Please wise Lord,_ ” he pleads softly, desperately. “I ask not for myself but for Kíli. I wish no harm to come to him if I have misinterpreted Your intentions. What should I do?”

When still no clarification, no idea or solution comes to him he balls his fists, feeling rage boil up inside him at the injustice of the situation. He wants to shout his anger at Mahal. “Kulhu Sazrali?! _What do You want?!”_ he growls through gritted teeth. He can’t help himself as he slams down his fist on the altar in frustration. “Isbir e! _Answer me!”_ He raises his eyes to the cold stone face of the god. “Have I not pleased You? Have I not lived my life in Your honour and by Your laws? Why will You not speak to me and tell me what You wish me to do?!”

He just manages to bite back a curse before he turns on his heels and storms out of the altar room, angrily pulling his boots back on; in his fury his aches and pains momentarily forgotten. He pulls a cloth from his belt and wraps it around the cut in his hand before he leaves the small offer room.

As he stands in the silent halls, breathing heavily as the anger and utter despair pulse through his veins, he is battling himself what to do next. Initially he takes a step towards the common quarters, towards Dwalin’s chambers. But then he changes his mind and turns on his heels, walking back towards the royal quarters instead.

***

He had thought that deciding to give up on his dream to return to Azsâlul'abad would be the hardest decision in his life. And yet as he slowly opens the door to his nephew’s bedchambers he knows that that was nothing compared to what he is about to do. Closing the door carefully behind him he remains standing there for a moment, watching the two brothers sleep on opposite sides of the room; the neatly braided blond hair sticking out above the furs on one side as opposed to the wild dark hair sprawled across the pillows on the other. For a moment he is back ten, twenty, thirty years again. Watching his nephews sleep soundly as he had done countless times when they were children and had fallen asleep to the sound of his deep voice singing the old tales of their homeland. But they are khazdîth no longer. Young bucks they are still, but adults nonetheless. 

He takes a slow deep breath, his heart beating desperately in his chest, but his mind silences its cries. He has made his decision now. If Mahal will not answer him then he shall have to deal with this matter as were it any other choice he has to make as king. To decide what is right by their laws, by their customs, for the good of the kingdom and not for his personal gain. And so he walks over to the brunet’s bed and sits down next to Kíli’s sleeping body.

His love looks so beautiful, so handsome and sweet in his dream state. He almost forgets himself as he watches the soft fluttering of the long dark eyelashes and the gentle breathing flowing forth from his lips. And he finds himself bending forward towards those soft pink lips, wishing for just one last kiss …

“Kíli,” he whispers softly as he catches himself. No. No more weakness, no more taking that which he should not have taken. “Kíli, amrâlê, ibkin.” _Kili, my love, wake up._ He gently shakes his nephew until the boy draws in a sharp breath and his eyes open slowly.

“Thorin?” Kíli asks, confused as to why he finds his uncle sat on his bed. Then a smile paints across his face. “I thought you didn’t want to see me. I came to your rooms earlier.”

“I know you did,” Thorin answers back stoically. “I am sorry I could not see you then.”

“That’s alright,” Kíli yawns. “You are here now.” He shuffles the blankets down. “Do you … do you want to lie under the blankets with me?” he tries, giving Thorin his sweetest smile.

Oh how he wants nothing more than to say _yes_! To wrap his lover’s young body in his strong arms and hold him close and never ever let go of him again.

“No, Kíli,” his voice croaks instead and instantly Kíli’s smile breaks.

“Oh,” the young prince swallows. “I am sorry, Thorin, I did not mean to presume ...”

Thorin strokes his hand across his face, his hand shaking slightly. “It’s alright, my love. But … Can you sit up? I am sorry to wake you so early. But I need to talk to you. Before everyone else wakes up.” He glances over to Fíli who is still fast asleep with his back to the both of them.

Kíli stares at his uncle, worry filling up his chest at the stern look on his lover’s face. “Are you angry with me, uncle Thorin?” he asks in such an innocent , youthful manner that has nothing to do with what has recently come to pass between them, that Thorin is taken aback for a moment.

“Oh sweet boy,” he whispers, “I am not angry at all. Come here. Let me hold you.” He just cannot do this the way he had intended; calculated and professional. This is not a business transactions. This is the subject of his undying love.

Kíli pushes himself up and then leans into the embrace that Thorin is offering him, although Thorin winces as he wraps his arms tightly around him.

“Are you sore?” he asks softly.

“A little,” Thorin admits. “But I will be fine. Do not worry about me, little Kee.”

“Of course I worry about you, Thorin,” Kíli protests. “You are my One, my love.” He looks up and strokes Thorin’s beard, frowning at the tears he finds glistening in his uncle’s eyes. “Thorin, please tell me why you are sad. You are worrying me.”

Thorin takes a deep breath as he strokes through his lover’s hair. “Kíli,” he starts, “I want you to know that I have no regrets. That I have loved every minute of being with you. What we did together … it was amazing. Beautiful.”

“It … it was!” Kíli squeaks, suddenly not liking where this conversation is going.

“And I love you so very much, amrâlê hikhthuzul.”

Kíli pushes himself upright. “Thorin, what is going on? Why have you come here to my room to tell me this?” He gently turns Thorin’s face so that their eyes meet, frowning sadly at his love’s swollen features.

“Kíli, we cannot court,” Thorin says quietly, but at least he has the decency to look Kíli in the eye as he says so.

Kíli just looks at him blankly. “I know we cannot,” he responds eventually. “Why have you woken me to tell me this?”

“Because … We have broken our laws. We have done what we know is wrong.”

“It is not wrong, Thorin! Mahal …”

“Mahal will give me no answers!” Thorin snaps, silencing his lover. “He will not speak to me when I ask him what am I to do when he gives with one hand and takes with the other. We are risking our lives, Kíli. I am risking everything I have fought for.”

Kíli blinks, confused. His heart is racing in his chest. “Amarali astû …” he whispers softly, a little hesitant and fearful now.

Thorin swallows hard at the phrase. “Please, Kíli. Amralizu ya. But we cannot do this anymore. I will be king soon. I cannot be the one to show so little regards for our customs and our laws. You must understand. I will never love another, this I promise you. You are my One, mahdulyashtûnê and always will be. Until the day I die you will be the only one on this earth for me and one day I will hold you in my arms again when we feast in Mahal’s halls. But until then … we must never do again what we have done.”

Kíli gives no reaction. He just stares at Thorin, emotionless.

“Kíli?” Thorin asks, when it feels like an eternity has passed and yet Kíli still has not spoken.

“I do not understand,” Kíli says quietly. “First you tell me we cannot be together. Then you kiss me and you teach me all about the pleasure we can enjoy together. We make love, not once but twice. I give my all to you as you gave yourself to me. The greatest blessing, Thorin! And you too tell me it was amazing. And now … now you do not want me anymore?”

“Please, it is not that I do not want you,” Thorin almost sobs in his anguish. _Oh, how I want you! Mahal knows the things I want to do with you!_ The guilt threatens to suffocate him. He knows Kíli is right. He should have done the right thing from the very start. He should never have touched his nephew the way he has. He has given him everything, his most sacred possession, his heart and soul. And now he is about to take it all away again. Why has he made things so much harder for the two of them? He lowers his gaze, as he whispers, “I have wronged you ...”

Kíli snorts. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

Thorin raises a surprised eyebrow. “Yes. Of course.” He frowns at Kíli. He had expected more drama. For Kíli to be angry, sad … anything! But after a brief challenge he seems to have just accepted what he’s saying. And it is sending a sting of something unpleasant through Thorin. He realises that he had wanted Kíli to fight for him. That he is disappointed that the young prince has just shrugged his shoulders at the idea of them never being intimate again, never again sharing that wonderful sensation of being joined as one.

But Kíli leans himself forward and before Thorin has a chance to stop him he has stolen a kiss from his lips. “Izlif iglukhul umralê,” he yawns, before he slides himself back under the sheets again.

“No, Kíli,” Thorin scolds him. “No more kisses.”

“Alright, Thorin. No more kisses,” Kíli mumbles before his breath slows back to the rhythm of sleep.

Thorin stays a moment longer, watching the brunet sleep. But in the end he knows he is torturing himself. He has done the right thing. Kíli’s safety is more important than anything else. He has spent a lifetime being alone and he can do it again, for Kíli’s sake. He carries the shame of his mistakes, but it is not too late to turn things around. He will honour his word; he will never lie with another and will look forward to the day that Zabadu Ablâkul Dehar will allow them to share their love openly when their time here is served.

With a soft sigh he raises himself off the bed and leaves the boys’ chambers. He has done the right thing, he tells himself again. After months of making all the wrong decisions for the both of them, he has finally done the right thing.

Then why does it feel like his heart has just died?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zebdâr Khuzdul Ablâkla - The Great Dwarven Highkings (note that the adjective "great" here is put in its plural form, which is rather unusual for khuzdul. This stresses that ALL the Highkings were great).  
> bazrân - valley-men  
> 'uhaskhajamhenaf - scarificeknife. A knife only used for ritual purposes, primarily to make a blood sacrifice.  
> Zabadu (Ablâkul) Dehar - (Mighty) Lord of the Anvil  
> ‘Adad - Father  
> khazdîth - dwarflings (dwarves under the age of forty)  
> amrâlê hikhthuzul - my love, always  
> Amarali astû - I love you. Kili uses the formal form of address here showing his respect for his uncle, but equally creating a distance between them.  
> mahdulyashtûnê - my divine husband  
> Izlif iglukhul umralê - Sleep well, my beloved


	21. Clarifications

As Kíli wakes up he finds his brother already dressed and ready to go to work. “Morning,” he yawns, stretching his arms above his head.

“Morning,” Fíli smiles to his brother. Then he frowns softly as a faint memory returns to him. “Was Thorin here last night? Or have I imagined that?”

Kíli had forgotten about that in his half sleep, but now that his brother mentions it the memory comes flooding back to him. His brow knits together as he recalls the odd conversation he had had with his uncle sat on the edge of his bed whilst he was drunk on sleep. “Yeah, I think he was.” He rubs his eyes, trying to focus his vision.

“Why?” Fíli blurts out, before a blush taints his cheeks. It is probably not appropriate for him to ask that question now that the two of them are courting. And he is not sure if he wants to know what they had got up to whilst he was sleeping next to them.

But his brother offers the information up freely. “I am not really sure. He … I think he was going on about us not being able to court again. I don’t know why. I already know that. Something about the fact that he will be king soon. But that hardly matters, I cannot court him now either.”

Fíli smirks. “But that doesn’t exactly stop you now does it.”

Kíli shrugs his shoulders, throwing his brother a cheeky smile as he dangles his bare feet over the edge of his bed. “Would it stop you from kissing and making out with the love of your life?”

Fíli sits himself down on Kíli’s bed, much like Thorin had the night before. “Probably not,” he smiles. “But then I don’t have a soulmate like you so I don’t know.” He sighs and takes his brother’s hand. “I know I keep saying it and I know you feel like I am just going on. But just be careful little brother. There …” he takes a deep breath, making sure he is careful with what he is saying, “… there are evil people out there, Kee. People who do not care whether he is the love of your life or not. People who know that Thorin is powerful and influential and who would like nothing more than to see him ruined.”

“Why?” Kíli asks innocently. “Thorin is a good king. He looks after his people. He has given us a home, food and shelter.”

“He has, I know, Kee. And many will be happy to see him on the throne. But there will always be those who do not agree with his rule. Who will question his decisions. That is the way of the world, Kíli. There will always be enemies. Those who think they could do better or who just want to make a profit out of someone else’s demise. And those people will gladly see him fall from grace over the two of you breaking the law. Just watch out for that, baby brother. I do not want to see either of you get hurt, okay?”

Kíli nods and throws his arms around Fíli. “You’re so wise. I love you, big brother.”

Fíli grins, returning the hug. “Love you too, little Kee.”

***

“Thorin?” Dwalin is an early riser and fortunately he is already dressed and ready to inspect the morning guard before they relieve the nightwatch when Thorin bangs on his door. “Mî Mahal, what has happened to you?!” Thorin’s bruises have come out richly now, painting an array of colours alongside his nose, bleeding into the soft skin under his eyes.

But Thorin waves a hand, silencing any questions. “I need you to come with me and Fíli today. And for the next week at least,” he states evenly. He would probably have asked Dwalin anyway after what had happened. But now it feels like he is doing what Dis had asked of him and it is souring his mood.

“To the forge?” Dwalin raises an eyebrow. Sometimes, when there is a lot of work on, Thorin asks him to help out. But business has been quiet these last few months, Thorin had said so himself.

“To the forge, yes. But only to escort us. You are free to go thereafter until we close up at night.” He turns his back to leave the room. “Be at the stables as soon as you can.” And at that he walks out, leaving Dwalin with many questions he knows he will not get an answer to.

***

“Thorin!”

Thorin cringes when he hears Kíli call his name. He does not stop his stride as he calls back, “Not now, Kíli.” But his lover quickly catches up with him in the stables. Thorin does not look at him as he checks the saddle straps. How can he. In the cold light of day their conversation feels even more heart-breaking and he just cannot deal with this right now. “Kíli, I said not now,” he growls lowly.

He is surprised when the brunet prince grabs his arm. “Thorin, about last night …” he tries.

But to his shock Thorin grabs his wrist in a painful lock. “Not now!” his lover barks as him, pushing him away. He watches Thorin hoist himself in the saddle as he rubs his wrist. “Don’t you have work to do?” Thorin snaps at him.

“Ehm yeah …” Kíli stutters. So they had agreed to not show each other any affection, but he had not expected such animosity either. But as he stumbles back he steps on Dwalin’s large foot and he knows that this conversation – if one can even call it that – has come to an end. And with a mumbled apology to the big warrior he flees back inside the fortress.

***

The first two days pass without any hassle. There is no trouble on the road – as there never was – and there is no trouble at the forge. Dwalin accompanies them in the mornings and helps close up in the evenings before escorting them back. And so far Thorin has still not told him why all of a sudden, after so many years, he is on guard duty for Thorin’s normal daily undertakings.  But Thorin knows that he has but two more days to tell him the truth. The deadline for the pay-off is looming. He has already told Fíli he is excused on that day and although the blond had put up a good argument he would not have his heir put in unnecessary danger over what was ultimately his flaw. But Dwalin would be there when he would tell the valley-men to  _ayud barathgalthasas 'ezhul nimgumul khagsizd kana kunbunul nikh zajalataha y’izdnu_ and send them away empty handed.

He had not seen much of Kíli during those tense couple of days after their brisk parting. He had chosen to have dinner in his chambers, which was not uncommon when he was busy and with the coronation coming up he had plenty of papers to read and write. He had only seen his young lover once in the corridors and Kíli had thrown him a wary glance and then had quickly turned the other way.

He just hoped that Kíli understood that although their love could no longer be physical, that did not mean he loved him any less.

Nonetheless he misses him. Telling Kíli that their brief romance had come to an end had really broken his heart. To never be able to express that intimacy again with even the smallest of tokens felt devastating. And tonight, when anxiety is running through him, he wishes for nothing more than to wrap his arms around his nephew’s slender body and let his heat wash all his troubles away.

“Stop being such a love-sick old fool!” he curses himself softly as he draws his attention back to the papers that set out his ceremonial duties as king.

He is startled by a soft knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“Dwalin.”

He sighs, on the one hand in relief, but secretly there is a sense of disappointment. “Come in.” He watches his guard close the door behind him. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“I came to see if all is well with Thorin Oakenshield,” his friend stares intensely at him.

“And why would it not be?” Thorin asks coolly. Dwalin is not the type to come offering words of comfort without a reason. But he is the one dwarf who knows Thorin better than anyone else.

“Why am I escorting you and Fíli to  _Bizrîn_?” Dwalin asks outright. He does not do talking around the subject and he knows Thorin does not like him to either.

Thorin sighs. He might as well take this opportunity and tell him. “Take a seat and I will explain.” He puts away his papers and quill and then begins to relate the real story of what had happened at the forge to his friend. He watches Dwalin’s face contort into an angry frown as the tale goes on and remembers why had had not told him the truth in the first place. Still, he had to tell him sooner rather than later if he wanted him there with him.

“The day after the morrow?” Dwalin checks. And Thorin nods.

“I will run an axe through them!” Dwalin growls. No-one touches his king! And certainly not some human filth from the valley.

“You will do no such thing,” Thorin narrows his eyes at him. “If I’d wanted that to happen I would have done so myself. I cannot take such a risk this close to the coronation. Our relationship with the valley-folk is fragile but stable. Now that I have decided to settle our people down here I will not risk a war with our closest neighbours. They are providers of trade and work.”

Dwalin snorts. “No-one will mourn the loss of such filth.”

“Perhaps not, but I will not risk it. Our clans are scattered, our people are vulnerable. No-one would come to our aid if the human lords decided to turn on us.”

“We could take them,” Dwalin frowns. “We are stronger than them.”

“Stronger, yes. But our numbers are lower and our warriors are old. Drop it, Dwalin. I have already gone over all of this in my head and I will not have these men murdered. We will speak no more of it.”

Dwalin raises an eyebrow. Is Thorin really so naïve that he thinks that these folk will just drop the matter if he tells them to go away? But he knows better than to question the strategic decisions of his lord. “Very well,” he sighs. However, he is not going to let Thorin, his friend and his king, be mugged like an old man, waiting for his enemies like a goat waiting for the butcher. “I will not let you just sit back and wait for them,” he says firmly. “I will seek them out for you and make sure the message gets across. You are my king and I will not see my king negotiate with thugs.”

Thorin raises an eyebrow. “And how will you do that, Dwalin son of Fundin, when I do not know who these men are or where to find them?”

At that Dwalin snorts. “My Lord,” he sneers a little, “ _you_ may not know who they are but I have a good idea where I may find your challenger and his henchmen,” he says trying his best not to sound smug. Thorin should know better than to keep such matters to himself and lie to his guard. And he knows the darker secrets of the valley town better than anyone. He is head of the royal guard! And after living here for decades he has learnt enough about each aspect of their closest neighbours including the not so sunny side. After all that is where trouble is most likely to erupt if it does. “Tomorrow,” he states, “I will sort this matter for you. And although I will spare their lives as per your order I will leave no room for interpretation.”

Thorin nods and excuses his guard, glad he has shared this burden with him and grateful for his friend’s aid.

When Dwalin opens the door he nearly bumps into Kíli.

“Evening Dwalin,” the young prince smiles brightly.

“Evening Kíli,” Dwalin nods and throws Thorin a brief glance over his shoulder, before he leaves the two of them to it.

“Kíli,” Thorin looks up as Kíli locks the door behind him. He can feel his heart make a little jump and he urges it to calm down. “Why are you not in bed yet? I will not see you forsake your duties because you deprive yourself of your rest.”

Kíli hesitates for only a second, gauging Thorin’s mood. After their last exchange he had been a little wary of his lover, but he has known Thorin and his temper for long enough to be skilled at wrapping him around his finger. And so he gives him a cheeky grins and swoons, “I am happy to go to bed now, Thorin.” He swaggers up to Thorin and throws his arms around him. “If you are?” he purrs in his ear.

Thorin freezes immediately and grabs his arms, pushing them roughly away.

“What is the matter with you?!” Kíli flinches.

“Kíli, we agreed on this,” Thorin says regretfully. “That we would stop this. Now return to your own chambers and disturb me no more. I have much work to do still.” He turns himself around quickly as his want pulses through him.  _Please go away, Kíli. Please do not make this any harder for the both of us._

Kíli frowns. “What do you mean?” He tries to grab hold of Thorin’s hand, but as soon as his fingers brush against him his elder snatches his hand away.

“Kíli, we talked about this!” Thorin frowns angrily at him now, bringing his face close to Kíli’s. But to his horror his nephew closes the gap between their mouths, pulling him close.

“No!” he fights himself lose. He wants nothing more than to give in and tongue his lover into oblivion. But he will not sway like a sapling. He has made up his mind and he will stand by it now. And make Kíli listen to him. “No more touching, no more kissing.” It pains him so to say this again and he almost whispers it, “And no more making love.”  _Please Kíli, will you just go to your room now. I cannot bear to see that look on your face. Don’t make me do this._

“You mean … never?” Slowly it dawns on Kíli. And slowly the detail of Thorin’s midnight conversation returns to his consciousness. “Y-you mean not even when the door is locked? … Not _ever?!”_

Thorin takes a step backwards. “No Kíli. It is too dangerous. It is against our laws. I am so sorry. I thought you understood.”  _Now please just go._

Kíli stares at him in shock. “I thought you just meant like before. That we cannot be seen together. That you thought we had not been careful enough … Why … … Why?!” he stutters, unable to formulate anything else as fear grips his heart. “Only Dwalin and Fíli know I am here! Please Thorin!” he begs now.

Thorin seats himself back down, staring unseeing at the papers in front of him. He cannot look at Kíli. He cannot see the hurt that he knows is there. “It matters not, Kíli. The risk is too great. It is wrong what I have done. I should never have …” He tentatively looks up. He should look Kíli in the eye as he tells him this, as he would expect him to do in return, no matter how hard. “I really am sorry, umralê. There will never be another at my side, I promise you this. But in this lifetime we must not repeat the mistakes that we have already made.”

Kíli’s face clouds over at that. “ _Mistakes?_ So lying with me was a _mistake_ now was it? Kissing me was a _mistake?”_ his voice rises in volume and breaks over.

“Kíli, do not raise your voice to me,” Thorin tries to say calmly although he realises that perhaps his choice of words was not the wisest. “I have no regrets,” he says again, trying to mitigate the damage.

Kíli just stares at him blankly. The reality of what Thorin is saying has hit him in the chest like an axe blow. He truly had not understood exactly what it was that Thorin had wanted from him when he had spoken to him a few nights ago. After all he had been half asleep! That they could never touch each other again. Not even kiss. Never … He can feel the tears welling up inside him. “So _that_ is what you came to tell me in the middle of the night!” he sobs. “Don’t you think that’s something we should have discussed when I was actually awake?! Not try and trick me when I’m half asleep because you could not face telling me to my face?!”

“Kíli,” Thorin tries softly as he can see the anguish spread across his sweetheart’s face. The words cut deep. He had considered the matter settled. He had thought he had been clear. He had spoken to Kíli at that particular impractical moment not because he was too weak to have an open and honest conversation, but because he did not trust himself to stand by his decision if he had left it any longer. It is only now that he realises that the matter is not settled at all.  “Please understand. I will be King of Khagal’abbad,” he tries to explain himself for a second time. “I must abide our laws. _We_ must abide by our laws.”

Kíli can feel a tear roll down his cheek and his vulnerability makes him even more angry. “Y-you are b-breaking up with me?” he stutters through his tears.

“Lu’. You are mahdulyasthûnê,” Thorin says softly. He stands up and reaches out, but Kíli is the one to step back this time. It hurts. He desperately wishes for Kíli to understand his position, but wants to cry over the hurt he is causing him. “You will always be my One.”

Kíli laughs but it is a hollow laugh. His face is a mask of anguished hurt now. ”Your One? Your One who has to remain your dirty secret for eternity. Your One whom you can never tell and never touch.” He takes a step forward and squares up against his uncle, anger coiling inside him. “Do you even know what you are doing to me? You are condemning me to a life of loneliness! To a life without the loving embrace of another! This is no blessing, this is a curse!”

Thorin feels the words stab deep in his heart. It is true. He had ignored that side of the equation simply because it was too heart-breaking. But Kíli has voiced the reality of their situation all too clearly. And it makes his resolve wobbly for just a moment.

He reaches out towards his nephew. He wants to sooth Kíli, wants to make it better. But at the last moment he catches himself and pulls his hand back. And Kíli shakes his head, tears running down his face, and spins round towards the door.

Thorin is fighting every instinct to call him back. But even when the desire to shout out how much he loves Kíli wins it from his sensibility, the words do not form on his tongue. And before he has found his voice again Kíli has unlocked the door and slammed it shut behind him.

He stares blankly at the empty space left where Kíli has stood a moment ago. It already feels like he has been staring at it for hours, motionless. Having that conversation with Kíli once was awful enough. Having to have it twice is tearing him to shreds. And Kíli’s words have ripped his heart apart. He cannot deal with the hurt he has caused his lover. He cannot deal with the thought of never seeing that scowl of anger and disappointment turn into a picture of love and heat for him again.

_Nonsense. You are the Durin King. He will get over it and so will you. You have always known that love may not happen for you in this lifetime. You have always dealt with it and you can again. Until you are reunited in Mahal’s Halls._

But how long will that be? Dwarves easily live until their mid third century. And that average is brought down considerably by the losses of war. In peacetime his people have known to reach ages as high as their mid fourth century. He has only just passed the midpoint of his second century. And Kíli has not even reached his fiftieth year. Kíli’s words carry a chilling truth. And once more he feels his own anger rise at his Maker.

_Mahal, my Lord, why did it have to be him?! I will accept a life without love if so is Your judgement. But why do you condemn him to the same fate?!_ But once more his pleas are met by a stark silence. 

He stands breathing heavily for a while. But eventually he manages to find his calm as he turns away from the door. He has made his decision and he is not going to come back on it. Having doubts is only making this whole thing ten times harder. And he is not going to let his cock rule his head like some barely-of-age khazdith. This is the right thing to do and no more will be said about it. He needs to focus on the coronation and his responsibilities as king. And Kíli needs to focus on his own tasks. They do not need to be intimate to know that they love each other. There is so much more to loving someone than bedding him.

He just hopes that his fiery nephew will soon forget his hurt and his anger and come round to seeing his point. For both their sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mî Mahal - by Mahal  
> Bizrîn - the valley-place  
> umralê - my beloved  
> mahdulyasthûnê - my blessed husband  
> khazdith - dwarfling. Although technically a khazdith is a dwarf who is not of age, the lit. translation is young dwarf and the elders would often refer to just-come-of-age dwarves as khazdîth still in a somewhat derogative manner


	22. Emotions Run High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that Kíli is only about 15-16 years old in human years and not fully emotionally matured yet.

“Kíli!”

Fíli jumps up from his bed where he had been reading some scrolls by the light of his night candle. He had not expected his brother to return to their bedroom after he had gone to see Thorin, assuming that he would spend the night there. Therefore he is quite shocked when his baby brother comes flying through the door and throws himself on top of his bed, sobbing heavily.

“Hey. What happened?” he asks as he sits himself down on the edge of Kíli’s bed and strokes his shuddering back softly.

“He … he …” Kíli heaves, trying to get some air into his lungs as he angrily wipes his tears away. But more keep coming. He just cannot stop the flow as he turns over the conversation with Thorin in his head.

When no intelligent explanation comes forth Fíli lies himself next to his brother and wraps his arms around him, cuddling him close like he used to when they were khazdîth and Kíli had been hurt or sad. “Sssh, brother,” he soothes, stroking his back. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

It takes a long time before Kíli’s anguished sobbing dies down. But eventually he lies still against his brother’s chest, just sniffing occasionally as Fíli continues to hold him.

“What happened?” the blond prince tries again once his brother seems to have calmed.

“He … he broke up with me,” Kíli squeaks.

At that Fíli frowns. _Just like that? When only the other day Thorin had told him that he believed Kíli to be his blessing?_  “What do you mean, he broke up with you?” he asks softly, brushing Kíli’s fringe out of his face.

“H-he said we can’t be together. We can’t … can’t kiss anymore. Or hold each other. H-he said he loves me, but showing our affection is wrong. That he will never be with me again.” That starts off a new flood of tears and painful sobs and Fíli cradles his head against his chest, pressing soft kisses into his hair. “Oh brother,” he murmurs. “Poor little brother.”

Kíli pushes himself back a little. “I don’t understand, Fee,” he sobs softly. “He knows what that means. I can never have another. If Thorin won’t have me …”

Fíli feels his heart shatter for his baby brother as he thinks about this. Blessed dwarves mate for the rest of their eternal life. They may not lay with another once their one true blessing has been revealed to them. Such would be the worst insult to Mahal’s gift. “But … if Thorin will not … What about Zannu Abkân?” he asks outloud, but regrets the question when he sees the distress in his brother’s eyes.

“I don’t know!” his brother howls in anger and sorrow. “I don’t understand any of it anymore! Our whole lives we are told that this is supposed to be our greatest gift. Well … I don’t want this gift!” he sniffs. “Not like this! I am forty years old. I _want_ to kiss and cuddle and have sex! I am not a damned uhkan!”

“Oh Kíli, I am sorry,” Fíli sighs, unsure what to say or do next. He can totally understand his brother’s anguish. The thought of never kissing or touching another again in this lifetime, of never enjoying the pleasure of sex again. “You can jerk off …” he tries lightly, not knowing what else to say, but his brother pushes him away hard. “Thanks!” he snaps. “So I will just watch you and everyone else enjoy themselves whilst I am left with the company of my own hand!”

It would be funny if not for the sadness in his brother’s face. “There must be a way,” he tries to come up with anything that would put a smile back on Kíli’s face. “I can’t believe Mahal would do anything so cruel. We must be misunderstanding His intentions somehow.”

Kíli lies still beside Fíli for a while. Suddenly he pushes himself up and looks seriously at this brother. “How did Thorin get injured?”

“Huh?” The sudden unexpected question throws Fíli for a moment. “You know how, we were ambushed …”

“Stop lying, brother. What really happened?” Kíli says sharply. “Everything was fine before. And then Thorin turns up looking like he’s been beaten up and suddenly he does not want to see me anymore?”

Fíli sighs. “He was threatened. By some bazrân. They overheard us talking and they demanded five hundred silver coins to keep your secret safe,” he admits. But when Kíli jumps up angrily he grabs his hand. “We didn’t tell you because Thorin wanted to protect you. He is just trying to protect you, Kíli. As am I. Because we both love you so very much.”

Kíli looks at him silently for a while. So many emotions are racing through him and he feels unable to deal with any of them right now. There is anger, frustration, sadness, hurt, disbelief, anxiety. And he does not even know who he feels any of these feelings for anymore. Finally he lies back down, feeling absolutely exhausted. “I love you too, brother,” he whispers softly. “Will you stay here for a bit until I fall asleep?”

“Course I will,” Fíli smiles sadly, pulling his brother into his arms again and the fur blankets over the two of them. “Sleep now, nadad.”

***

When he drops Thorin and Fíli off at the forge, like he has every morning for the past few days, Dwalin wishes them a prosperous trading day. Thorin clasps his forearm. _Be careful_ , he signs in iglishmêk. And Dwalin nods.

He has not been to this part of town for a long while. But in the early days, after they had just moved to this area, he had spent many evenings frequenting the taverns here. Menfolk were no different than dwarves in that respect. If you wanted to hear the best gossip you had to come to the roughest part of town, where the men were easy with their money and the women easy with their bodies and both were easy with their tongue.

There are two taverns that he has an eye on. But he decides to chance the first one on his path.

As he pushes the door to the alehouse open the smell of the stale beer that the valley-men brew hits him in the face. It takes his eyes but a second to adjust to the dingy interior before they glance around the room. There are few customers, although more than one should expect to see at this time in the day. He snorts at the laziness of mankind. You would not see a dwarf in a tavern before they have earned their gold that day. Even the lowest class would choose work over wastage.

Thorin’s description has been clear enough and he has a good idea whom he is looking for. As his eyes scan the far right corner he spots them. Ryle and his buddies. The main man is a nasty piece of work, much like his father was before him. The rest are a good for nothing bunch of misfits that seem to waste away their lives between ale- and whorehouses, paid for with money no doubt earned in a dishonourable way. It cannot be a coincidence. They match Thorin’s description perfectly.

Dwalin walks up to the barman and hands him a small bag of coins. “A little privacy,” he grumbles. He knows the guy and he knows that he can be bought easily enough. He had paid him for information before and he had always been very helpful as soon as a pouch of gold was pushed his way.

The barman weighs the bag in his hand and nods before he yanks the last orders bell. “Closing up for a bit, everyone drink up,” he shouts, drawing protests from around the room. Dwalin nods in thanks and orders a pint with him.

As Ryle is about to get up, Dwalin walks over and despite being a couple of feet shorter, he pushes him back into his seat with ease. “Not you, buddy,” he grins. “Ye and I need to have a little talk.”

Ryle narrows his eyes and then laughs. “Hello _dwarf_ ,” he spits as if it is the greatest insult in the world. “And why do ya think I want to talk to you?”

Dwalin leans over him, bringing his face close. He can sense the others at his back closing in on him, but he quickly reaches behind him and brings one of them face to face with him, holding him in a tight lock around his neck. “Call yer men off or I will do it for ya,” he growls at Ryle. “And they won’t look so good afterwards, I promise ya that.”

The blond in his grip squeals as his breath is cut off and he digs his nails into Dwalin’s arms in vain.

Ryle smirks but he nods nonetheless. “Easy boys,” he says. “Let’s hear what our friend here has to say for himself. Might be something interesting.”

The tavern has emptied now and the barman has closed the door. Ryle points to a seat but Dwalin remains standing, preferring both the advantage of height over his seated enemy and the freedom to swirl round should he need to.

“Suit yerself, dwarf,” Ryle smirks. “Now this better be good what ya have to say. Interrupting my day like this.”

Dwalin laughs. “Yer day doing what, kakhafi? Drinking yerself into oblivion before ya decide to mug one poor soul or another? Yer mother must be so proud of ya.” Ryle attempts to rise up at the insult, but Dwalin pushed him firmly back down in his seat. “Now listen to me, Ryle, and ya’d better listen good.”

The man’s features shift just a little at the realisation that this fierce looking dwarf knows his name.

“Oh yes, Ryle, I know who ye are and I knew yer father too. I see the rotten apple did not fall far from the tree. But at least yer father had some sense about him. Did he never teach ya not to mess with Khazâdu Azsâlul'abad?”

“Just tell me why ye’re here,” Ryle growls.

“I am here to tell ya just that, “Dwalin brings his face right up close to Ryle. “That ya should think twice before ya challenge my king again. It is only because of his mercy that I am not feeding yer guts to the pigs today. Now ya had best forget yer little scheme real quick. Because if I ever catch ya within even a yard of Thorin Oakenshield or his kin again, I will make ya choke on yer wee cock. Am I clear?” he hisses in the man’s ear.

Ryle just grins an evil grin at him, at which Dwalin pulls a knife quicker than any of the others can react to against his throat. “Do not tempt me, filth! Do not think for one minute ya have anything on him. Whatever ya think ya heard, no-one would believe yer word against his. Do ya really want to risk a war between yer people and mine for insulting the new King of Khagal’abbad? Do ya really think ye and yer simple buddies here are ready to face a dwarven army?” He presses the knife just a little harder against Ryle’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. “Only by his grace do you still have yer balls, so ye’d best make sure not to piss him off anymore,” he hisses again, before he pulls his knife back.

Ryle rubs his hand across his throat, looking at the sticky blood on his fingers. “Fine,” he growls, knowing he’s lost this one. It’s not worth his hassle. “But ye’d best tell that red-headed scribe he needs to learn to hold his tongue,” he sticks the knife in just a little.

Dwalin narrows his eyes. “What d’ye mean?”

Ryle smirks. “Let’s just say that he was quick to offer up some very interesting information about ya dwarves when we asked him nicely.”

Dwalin punches him hard in the face, making the man spit blood and one of his few remaining teeth. “Stay away from my people,” he growls. As he turns around he finds the three others have risen to their feet and are looming over him, hatred and threat painted across their features as they have all drawn their weapons.

But Dwalin smiles. “I see the lesson hasn’t quite gotten through to ye dimwits.” In a flash of steel he lashes out and a moment later the tallest one hits the table with a thud, screaming like the dying scream of a pig as his hands fly towards his crotch which is quickly becoming soaked in blood. “I only promised my king I would not kill ya. So ye’d best find him a medic quick to help me keep my promise.” He does not even need to push the others out of his way as they scatter before him as he storms out of the tavern.

He spends the rest of the day walking through the valley town, buying some food, listening to the latest news and checking out their defences. When the sun starts to sink towards the horizon, he slowly walks back towards the forge.

Thorin does not say anything but silently raises the question.

“You should find no more trouble in this town, uzbadê.”

“Akhminrukizu kharmê,” Thorin nods.  He has faith in Dwalin’s words. He has to focus on his duties as king now and having had this matter taken care of is at least one worry off his shoulders.

The following day Fíli does not work in the forge with him – as he had decreed. Dwalin joins him instead, just in case the message had not got through. But there is no trouble. No-one shows up when they close up that night to demand the five hundred silver coins in exchange for silence. And it appears that Dwalin had brought the matter to conclusion as he had promised. Thorin feels relieved. He does not fear these men, but he does fear for the love of his life and what his own people would do to him if they found out his sin.

***

That evening, now that the extortion burden has been removed, Thorin decides to have dinner with his sister and her sons. He has not done so since he received the beating and he had not seen Kíli since he had stormed out of his rooms after their row.

But when he turns up to the table he finds only Dís and Fíli sat there.

Fíli’s eyes light up at the sight of his uncle. He had felt physically sick with worry all day. Although Thorin had assured him that Dwalin had taken care of the matter, he had been climbing the walls knowing that today was the deadline of the extortion threat. He had purposefully hidden himself deep in the halls of the old kingdom, avoiding both his mother and his brother in case they would want to know why he was not at work. And he had only resurfaced to ready himself for dinner, his worry over Thorin growing each moment his uncle had not yet returned home. But here he stands, safe and unharmed.

He smiles brightly at him, but his smile drops from his face when Thorin takes his seat immediately asks, “Where is Kíli?”

“He is not hungry,” he mumbles.

“Go and tell him he is to join us. He has not been excused,” Thorin says sternly.

Fíli looks up at his uncle, wondering if he has truly lost his mind. Can he not understand Kíli does not want to dine with them? Not after what had come to pass between them? Does he even know that the brunet prince has not moved from their bedroom for the last two days? That he has refused to eat and only drunk a little bit because Fíli had more or less forced it down his throat?

But when he looks to his mother he finds her nodding in agreement with Thorin’s statement. He stifles a sigh and gets back up, disappearing back towards his quarters, knowing this conversation is not going to go well.

Dís silently looks at Thorin but he ignores her gaze, regretting already his decision to join his kin tonight. He begins to load his plate with meat and cheese as they wait for Kíli to join them.

When Fíli appears again his brother is not at his side. “He says he does not want to join us tonight,” he says quietly, shuffling his feet, fully expecting to be sent away again.

“Why not?” Dís asks, glancing between Fíli and Thorin, who seems less surprised.

Fíli looks at his uncle, pleading with him to just let the matter drop.

“Well?” Thorin rumbles however, seemingly unwavering from his demand that Kíli is to dine with them.

Fíli swallows hard. “He ehm … he said he does not want to see you, uncle,” he whispers, lowering his gaze and keeping a safe distance.

At that Dís’ head snaps to her brother’s. “What have you done?”

“The right thing,” Thorin says quietly, slowly looking up and giving his sister a cold look.

Dís scowls and then shoves her chair back hard. She storms out of the dining room, brushing past a stunned Fíli and towards her sons’ bedchambers.

***

“Go away, Fíli! I am not coming to dinner!” Kíli calls out as she knocks on the door. She slowly pushes the heavy door open. Her son is lying on his bed, his face buried in the furs and his back to the doorway. She quietly walks over to him and sits down on the bed next to him. Her hand reaches out and begins to stroke his back. She has not comforted her son like this since he became of age. It is no longer appropriate. He is a buck now and her responsibility as his mother has officially come to an end. But Dís does not care about such custom. Kíli is and will always be her blood, the child she had carried in her belly and raised for forty years. And her son is upset and he needs her right now. “What is the matter, kurkarukê?” she asks softly.

Kíli stills under her touch. “‘Amad?”

“I am here, my sweet one. Why are you not joining us tonight? What has my brother done this time?”

Kíli slowly turns himself around. His eyes are red and puffy. “He does not love me anymore,” he hiccups in a sob.

Dís frowns. She runs the back of her hand along her son’s cheek, brushing his hair out of his face. “Why do you say this, little one?”

“B-because he said we can never be together again. That he will never accept my touch again. That he will never kiss me again.”

Dís sighs. So this is her brother’s idea of the right thing. “Oh kurkaruk, come here.” She pulls her tall son up and against her bosom, stroking his hair and back as she gently rocks him. Kíli wraps his arms around her in a desperate need for comfort. His tears are running freely now and his body is jolting under his pained sobs. He feels like he has not stopped crying for two days and he knows his uncle would frown upon his pathetic behaviour but he does not care. Thorin has broken his heart.

“Hush little one, it is alright,” Dís sooths. “It will all be alright.”

They sit like this for a long while, until eventually Kíli’s tears run dry and his throat feels thick. Slowly Dís pushes him upright, brushing the wet strands of wild hair out of his face again. She tilts up his chin. “I know it hurts right now, my sweet one. But this is for the best. Your heartache will go, little Kee, and make room for another.”

Kíli shakes his head wildly. “No, ‘amad, I can’t! I can never love another.”

“Oh little raven, it may feel like that right now. Like there will never be another. But there will be. You are so young still. Your heart will heal. You are a Durin prince, you can choose from whoever you want.”

“You don’t understand!” Kíli sobs. “I cannot choose whomever I want. Mahal made me Thorin’s and his alone. He is mahdulyusthê. There can never be another for me.”

Dís bites her lip. She hesitates for a moment but the heartache before her makes her cling on to the alternative. “My sweet one, you cannot think that. Soulmates are not granted to us in this lifetime. Not to someone as young as you. Mahal will bless …”

“Mahal did not bless me! He cursed me,” Kíli scowls. “Thorin is mahdulyasthûn. Mahal told me himself, during the fire ritual. And I know he is, in my heart and soul, ‘amad. You may think of me as a silly love-sick dwarfling. But do you really think I would _want_ this if I had a choice?”

Dís looks into those deep brown eyes. _No._ As she looks at the deep sadness within she does not think that Kíli is making this up. But he can still have misunderstood Mahal’s intentions. The words of the gods are rarely clear cut. After all she herself is now doubting the wisdoms she thought she had learnt in her prayers.

“I am absolutely sure, ‘amad,” Kíli presses as he sees his mother’s doubt. “He is part of my very being. He is my everything. He ... he was my first. And he will be my last ...,” he whispers, sobbing again.

Dís can feel the anger at her brother run through her. “My sweet sweet little Kee,” she pulls Kíli in her arms again. “I am so sorry that my brother has wronged you. He should never have touched you like that.”

But Kíli shakes his head. “It could only have been him. From the moment I was able to court it could only have been him.” He blushes. “I loved him for courting me, ‘amad, this you must believe. Better to be loved once, than never. But I do not understand why he denies me now? Why will he not allow me to love him, knowing there can never be another for either of us? How is that even fair, ‘amad? Why has this happened? I did not ask for this!”

Dís stares at her son. “You are absolutely sure he is your One?”

Kíli nods solemnly and she cannot deny that it is the truth any longer. When Kíli and Thorin had first told her the soulmate story she had dismissed it as an excuse for their indecent behaviour, a fantasy of a young buck in love with his uncle, despite the niggling in the back of her mind. But there is no doubt in Kíli’s eyes. “I believe you,” she whispers softly. “Madhu uzbad. I did not understand it at first. But you _are_ his blessing.” _Can Mahal really be so cruel? To bless him with that which he can never have?_

Kíli lets out a big sigh of relief that his mother finally believes him. “Thank you.”

“It will be alright, little one,” she strokes his hair again as a thousand thoughts race through her mind.

“How, ‘amad? How will it be alright? If Thorin turns me away I will never know love again. Centuries of loneliness lie ahead of me. How is that going to be alright?”

_I don’t know, my little one. I have no answers to this. I feel your pain and your confusion and I am powerless to do anything about it._

***

When she finally returns to the dining room Thorin has already disappeared. “Where is he?” she frowns at Fíli who is sat on his own at the large dining table, stabbing absentmindedly at his food.

“He said he had work to finish,” Fíli says softly, wishing that his family would leave him out of this argument.

Dís snorts and strides towards her brother’s chambers. As she throws open the door, Thorin looks up calmly. He had expected his sister to come storming up to him; her temper is as predictable as his own.

She closes the door behind her and strides over, her head held high in defiance. “How is that the right thing, Thorin?!” she growls at her brother.

“I thought it is what you wanted,” Thorin retorts. “That you did not want me near him again.”

Dís laughs angrily at him. “What I wanted you to do you choose to ignore a long time ago, brother. How are you such an intelligent and inspirational leader and yet are so utterly dim-witted when it comes to love? To take my son’s innocence and then to shove him aside like a common whore is _not_ the right bloody thing, brother!” she spits.

Thorin stares at her, feeling helpless. “Then what will you have me do? Please, do enlighten me with your divine wisdom for I am at a loss as to what I am supposed to do!” he says sharply.

Dís raises an eyebrow. “You ask me for advice now?” she mocks. “Now that you have already taken what was his most precious gift to give?! You have got to be jesting, Thorin!”

“I am not!” Thorin roars suddenly in frustration, slamming his fist on the table. “I understand that you defend him. He is your son and I expect no less. I know I should not have lain with him. Hate me all you like, Dís. But know that I did not just bed Kíli out of lust. You know me better than that. I have never sought such desires before. I have spent my entire life denying myself the love that others offered me so freely. He is my first and my only love too! When he gave me his gift, I gave him mine. I never set out to hurt him, to deny him anything. I have tried to love him and was told I was doing wrong. I have tried to keep him safe by distancing myself, and I am still doing wrong. I would accept a life without love for myself if that would allow him his happiness. But it does not. We cannot be together and we cannot be apart. Now tell me what I should do because believe me, I have asked! I have begged Mahal to tell me how this can be His blessing when it could condemn us both to death. And He will not answer me!”

Dís looks at Thorin in surprise as a tear rolls down his cheek into his dark beard. She has not seen her brother cry since they lost Frerin.

“All I want is for Kíli to be happy,” Thorin tries to hold back a sob. “Because I love him, Dís. It may be wrong, but I do. I love him more than I have ever loved anything in my life. He is my soulmate, my One, my heart and soul. I would give him everything I have to give if that would make things better. I would gladly give my life for him if it allowed him his happiness. But all I can do is to make sure he is safe. It may break his heart, but I choose that over it stopping from beating altogether.” He sinks back into his chair and buries his face in his hands, the tears rolling between his fingers even when he tries his best to hold them back.

Slowly Dís walks over before she lays an arm around her brother’s shoulder. How has she found herself in this position, between these two star-crossed lovers who are both closest to her heart?

“Send him away,” she whispers softly.

Thorin looks up, wiping angrily at the tears that he does not want her to see.

“You both need some space. After the coronation, send him to Farak-khagal’abbad. Send a messenger to Zabad Suthri and tell him the youngest prince of Durin will be joining his court for a while to learn more about the southern faction. Let him choose his own company, give him responsibilities and a meaningful task to accomplish. It will do him good, Thorin, to be away from here. Away from you. And it will give you both time to think. And perhaps in the meantime Mahal will provide you with the answers you seek.”

Thorin considers this for a moment and then nods slowly. He takes his sister’s hand, afraid she may pull it away, but she doesn’t. “Akhminizi, namad.”

Dís frowns. But then she wraps her arms around her brother and leans her forehead against his as she tenderly wipes his tears away. “You stupid stubborn dwarf,” she growls softly. “Both of you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhkan - priest  
> nadad - brother  
> khakafi - kakhuf is turd. CaCaCi is an elemental construction form, which we can translate as "piece of shit"  
> Khazâdu Azsâlul'abad - The Dwarven of Erebor  
> uzbadê - my king  
> Akhminrukizu kharmê - Thank you greatly, my brother  
> kurkaruk(ê) - (my) tiny raven  
> 'Amad - mother  
> mahdulyusthê - my soulmate  
> mahdulyasthûn - my blessed husband  
> Madhu uzbad - the king's blessing  
> Farak-khagal’abbad - South Blue Mountains  
> Akhminizi, namad - Thank you, sister


	23. Coronation

The coronation ceremony should be one of the happiest days of his life. Even if it is not the throne of Azsâlul'abad he will be seated on, to rule from the throne of Khagal’abbad holds no shame. He will be Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul and will have provided his people with a safe haven. Zabad Daín had sent acknowledgment of his claim in the name of the dwarves of Urâd Zirnul and so had Zabad Suthri for the Fahamkhagal’abbad. Even the small Clans of 'Urstarâg and Fantnuhûb, who had been amongst the first to come to his father’s aid and who still lived in the Southern Blue Mountains, have sworn fealty to the new king. He knows it is not the same as the reign of his grandfather over all seven clans. Nonetheless he takes some pride in the knowledge that he has brought his people closer together than they had been since the Great War.   

But as his attendants help him into his ceremonial robes he cannot deny the sadness that haunts him and that overshadows everything else. Kíli has not spoken to him for nearly two weeks now. On the odd occasion that he had seen him in the halls, the younger dwarf had quickly turned on his heels and walked the other way. He had chosen to have his dinner with the other dwarves in the great dining hall, rather than in private with his kin. And Fíli had soon followed him, leaving Dís and Thorin to stare at each other in silence every night, neither knowing what else could be said.

He should be at his side today. Kíli should be getting dressed in the robes of his consort. He should be showing him off to the entire kingdom as his One. Instead Kíli will be expected to kneel before him in service like any other courtier, pretending that he is nothing more than the king’s nephew. And he dreads that moment more than anything else.

The ceremony, as they all do, commences in the temple. Thorin complies with each requirement, utters each well practiced phrase and places the offerings as expected. But he cannot help the feeling of betrayal when he kneels before Mahal. And although his lips form the necessary prayers, his head is swirling with anguished thoughts about his lover.

“Zabad Ablâkul, ‘Addel, aziri khama mahdzu ai-nurtu ‘ala akrâg.” Mighty Lord, Father of all Fathers, I ask for Your blessing on this day of honour.

_Why is he to be mine when he cannot be?_

“Agniti barkê zaberuka hikhthuzul ni akhrâmzu.” I vow my axe will always cleave in Your name.

_Why do You see him hurt like that? If he cannot be at my side, please let him be with another._

“Agniti bekhazê zasulunaizul ni akrâgzu.” I vow my hammer will only fall in Your honour.

_I love him, but I cannot bear to see his hurt. Please, my Lord, have mercy._

“Rum ulukhdu khebabzu dununa e du maharnuk y’abhâr ra d’azbud kanâgê ya kurdu therek.” May the light of Your forge guide me to make decisions with wisdom and rule my people with a strong heart.

_How can my heart be strong when it bleeds for him?_

“Ra rum shufutumunmi akrâg d’Astû ni sullu muhûlê la’ zajalakharamsu e d’akrusif nifburul zabad’egamzu.” And may I bring honour to You in all my endeavours until You call me to kneel before Your throne.

_Please take away this curse. Please let him have the love he deserves._

You _will give him the love he deserves._ He whips his head around. Did anyone else just hear that? Or was that just his own perverted desire speaking to him again? He blinks hard, feeling lightheaded suddenly. But Gorm smiles in satisfaction, apparently unaware of his confusion, and helps him to his feet. “Zabadê,” he bows, “Mahal mahada astû. Shamukh Uzbad Thorin Durinul!”

He is soon swept away by the cheering congregation and led towards the Throne Room, restored and glorified especially in his honour. He does not have time to dwell on what he thinks he may have heard or not. The ceremony in the Throne Room is no less tedious, but nonetheless requires his full attention. Again he is asked to repeat practiced words and motions as he says his vows to the factions and promises service to his people. But the task is made a lot more difficult by his nephew, his love, standing in front of the throne, next to his brother. Fíli looks solemn and proud as the heavy crown is placed on Thorin’s head and the sceptre especially forged for this occasion is given to him. But Kíli’s face is one full of sadness and betrayal.

***

He had managed to avoid Thorin for almost two weeks. But Kíli had known all along he couldn't not attend his uncle’s coronation. He does his best to hold his mask in place but he knows Thorin can see right through it. And when he is required to offer his congratulations to the new king he does so through gritted teeth, kneeling before Thorin’s throne as required and kissing his ring in respect. He wants to shout a childish response at him, something along the lines of _Is it alright for me to kiss your hand, my king, or is_ that _a mistake too?_ Instead he holds his dignity as an adult and a prince. However, he does not look at Thorin’s eyes. He wants to throw him daggers of hatred. Yet he knows if he were to look in those grey blue eyes he would immediately melt into a puddle of compliant idiocy again. He does not want Thorin to see his weakness, to see his hurt and his desperation that show that if Thorin would but give him a sign he would fly back into his arms again, all hurt forgiven and forgotten because his need for his love is so much greater than his anger. So he keeps his eyes downcast and as soon as opportunity allows he flees the throne room, with Fíli hot on his heels.

“Go back, Fíli,” he growls over his shoulder. “You should be there. You should join in the celebrations. You are his heir.”

Fíli grabs his arms and spins him around. “As should you.” Softly he whispers, only for Kíli to hear, although there is no-one out in the halls, “You are his One.”

Kíli’s hand lashes out before he realises what he is about to do. It is all the built up anger and frustration and hurt and hearing his brother say what can never be said out loud is the final straw after all of today's tension.

Fíli stares at him as the handprint pulses in his cheek and slowly his hand moves up to touch the angry imprint. They had fought oft enough when they were younger. But Kíli has never raised his hand like that at him before.

“I am sorry,” Kíli mumbles, blushing. And then the tears come again. It seems the harder he fights them the more they come.

“Oh Kee,” Fíli sighs, grabbing his brother’s hand. “Come, let’s go for a walk.”

They walk out of the mountain fortress until the fresh breeze of the mountains whips around their heads. He knows exactly where to go. Their place, their secret hideaway where they had spent so many childhood afternoons when they were hiding from Dís or Thorin or generally from duties they were required to complete. It is a secluded little glade with no real access other than a steep climb and a bit of bum shuffling down the last bit of the slope. Not really the sort of place the two princes should be hanging out, but who cares! They have not been here for years. And it feels strangely sentimental as they sit down under the large pine tree in which they once carved their runes.

“You cannot be angry with him forever, brother,” he says softly.

Kíli stares into the cool water and throws another stone, watching the ripples widen until eventually they disappear. “I am not angry,” he lies.

“Then what?” Fíli tries. “Talk to me, Kee.”

“To what avail?” Kíli snorts. “You know what the matter is. I am in love with Thorin but I can never be with him. And I can never lie with another so I will just have to be alone for the rest of my life. What else is there to say? How much more do you want me to spell my heartache out for you?”

Fíli says nothing. He knows his brother is hurt and he does not mean to take it out on him. And he is right; there is no solution he can offer to the situation either.

“I am sorry,” Kíli sighs in the end. Then he whispers, almost inaudibly, “I ... I just wish Mahal would take me to his Halls, Fíli. So that I can wait for him there, until he joins me in eternity.”

Fíli freezes and stares at his younger sibling in shock. “P-please don’t say that, Kíli! Please don’t leave me here without you! I ... I need you.”

Kíli looks up and gives his beloved brother a sad smile. “You are the only reason why I haven’t yet. I have thought about it though. I have stood with the berries of the yew tree in my hand and I was ready for it.” He looks at Fíli again and takes his hand. “And then I thought of you. I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t deserve to suffer because of what Thorin and I have done.”

“Neither do you,” Fíli whispers, drawing his brother closer and wrapping his arms tight around him. “You deserve to be happy with him. It kills me that you are thinking about taking your own life because you cannot be with him in this one.”

Kíli sighs, leaning into his brother’s embrace. “Mahal would refuse me to Dûmu Itdên anyway,” he murmurs regretfully. “Dying a coward’s death I’d probably end up in Malsazhâr.”

“You’re not a coward,” Fíli kisses his brother’s dark locks. “Still, better not try to find out eh,” he tries to appeal to his brother’s conscience in the hope he will not do anything stupid. “There is time for dying a heroic death yet.”

“What do you mean?” Kíli looks at his brother in confusion.

“Well …” Fíli smiles a little shyly, “Thorin may have given up on Azsâlul'abad. But that doesn’t mean we have to …” He looks into Kíli’s beautiful brown eyes, which are growing wide with surprise.

“ _You_ want to go back to the Lonely Mountain to reclaim our kingdom?”

Fíli shrugs a little shyly. “Maybe one day.” He had been thinking about it ever since Thorin’s announcement. He was the heir to the throne too. And although he appreciates the safe home that Thorin had offered them here, there is a niggling inside him that keeps calling out. They are warriors, princes of Durin. He cannot imagine living the rest of his life here growing comfortable and fat.

And for the first time since Thorin had broken Kíli’s heart into the little pieces he sees a bright and wicked smile return to his baby brother’s features.

“We will!” Kíli states determinedly, throwing his arms around Fíli and crushing their foreheads together. “You and I, we will find a way. And we will show Thorin that we are the warriors he taught us to be! And maybe when we have brought down the dragon and saved our gold, our will people see that I am worthy to be mahdulyusth-hu.”

Fíli grabs his brother firmly by the back of the neck, so happy to see his spirit return. He is not at all sure that reclaiming the mountain will result in the changing of sacred laws, but it does not matter right now. What matters is that the idea has given them both a purpose, a goal in life. And he feels quite excited about the prospect, even if it will probably be many years from now.

***

The assignment had come as a complete surprise to Kíli but he is most grateful for it. Balin goes over the instructions with him once more, explaining in detail his duties at Zabad Suthri’s court and his responsibilities as a Prince of Durin and direct representative of Thorin. Kíli nods impatiently. He is not stupid and he does not need Balin to tell him everything twice. He just wants to go now. But a moon cycle ago he would have cried if he had been told he would be away from Thorin for three months. Now it is the best thing that could have happened to him. He has already chosen his men, some experienced ones and some younger warriors. His attendants too will travel with him as befits one of the royal house. He cannot wait. To be travelling and to be away from all his sorrow. Anything to get his mind off Thorin, whom he still has not spoken to since he had turned him away so coldly.

He has said his goodbyes to his mother and to Fíli. He will miss his brother greatly. But he knows it will be good for him to be away from under his protective wing. To prove his worth as a prince and leader. To be his own dwarf. And to gain the experience they are going to need if they are ever going to succeed in their plan.

After he leaves Balin’s chamber he heads straight for the library. He knows this is his best and only chance. He does not know what he is looking for anymore. What he is trying to achieve. But his curiosity has gotten the better of him and whether it will help his situation or not he now wants to know what is written in the scrolls.

“Thank you, my friend,” he smiles at Ori. Over the last few months the scribe had painstakingly copied the scrolls that he had selected, rune by rune.

Ori nods shyly. He would have done it anyway for Kíli, whom he admires greatly. But there is also a deep guilt that lies across his shoulders that has made him work until deep into the night to get the task finished. A guilt amplified and confirmed when Dwalin, head of the royal guard, had given him a one-off warning, that if he ever found out that he had spoken to anyone in the valley about their sacred rites, customs and rituals again he would bash him around the head with every scroll and book in the library. He knows this simple task will not make up for his betrayal. Even though he is still unsure exactly what harm has come from his blabbermouth, he knows he has done wrong. And this is the best he can do to relief some of his guilt. To show the House of Durin his honour and service. “'Aimugalikh,” he says softly.

When Kíli returns to his chambers to pack the last few items, including his precious bow, he is startled by a knock on his door. He had hoped to avoid having to say goodbye to Thorin as he does not think he could go through that heartache. He just wants to be on his way now. But he knows when he turns around that it is his uncle standing in the doorway.

“Are you all packed?” Thorin says a little awkwardly as he closes the door behind him.

Kíli avoids his gaze, just nods. “Yes, irak’adad.”

“Then I shall wish you a safe journey.”

He can feel Thorin close behind him and his hands are shaking softly, unsure what to do now. “Thank you, uncle.”

“Will you please look at me,” Thorin says softly. It is not an order, more a plight.

Kíli swallows hard. But eventually he slowly turns round and looks at Thorin a little hesitantly. They are almost the same height now, both very tall for their race. As soon as their eyes meet Kíli feels like he might pass out from the sheer overload of emotions he is feeling.

“I would like you to have this,” Thorin holds out his hand to him. Kíli blinks as he looks at the necklace lying in the palm of Thorin’s hand. He recognises the marks that offer that wearer safe travelling and also in the centre Durin’s symbol and he knows it is the pendant Thorin was given by his father just before he had left to never return. “But, it-it is yours …” he stutters.

“I would like you to wear it,” Thorin stresses, taking Kíli’s hand and pressing the large golden pendant into his palm.  “To keep you safe … And … so you know you are in my thoughts,” he adds softly, knowing he is treading a very fine line. 

Kíli looks up again, into those amazing blue eyes that have swept him off his feet so many times. He wants to fly around his lover’s neck and tell him he does not want to leave him, that he just wants to stay here and be loved by him. But he knows he cannot go there again. That they have both made their decisions and he must neither be weak nor childish now. “Akhminruki astû, uzbadê,” he nods politely, as he puts the pendant around his neck. The cold metal feels odd yet comforting against his skin as he tucks it underneath his tunic.

Thorin clasps his shoulder. “Do me proud … umralê.”

He can only nod. Thorin talking to him like that is just confusing him and he is glad when his uncle leaves him to it.

When his mother and brother are there to wave him off, Thorin is not with them. And he is grateful in a way. Yet he is also relieved that Thorin had come to wish him well privately. And he presses his hand against his tunic he feels the pendant hidden underneath.

As their ponies set off on the road he suddenly wonders if this may actually be the last time he ever sees the old fortress, now baptised as Thorin’s Halls. That maybe he might decide to stay in the Southern Mountains at the end of his assignment or even travel on from there to gather support from other dwarves and eventually be joined by his brother to march upon Azsâlul'abad. Perhaps this is the only way it can be for Thorin and him - to be distant beloveds. And it offers a strange combination of excitement, relief and sadness as his childhood slowly disappears from view.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khagal’abbad - Blue Mountains  
> Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul - King of Durin's Folk  
> Zabad - Lord  
> Urâd Zirnul - Iron Hills (Ereborian term)  
> Fahamkhagal’abbad - South Blue Mountains  
> 'Urstarâg - the Firebeards  
> Fantnuhûb - the Broadbeams  
> Zabadê. Mahal mahada astû. Shamukh Uzbad Thorin Durinul! - My Lord. Mahal has blessed you. Hail King Thorin, son of Durin.  
> Dûmu Itdên - Halls of Waiting  
> Malsazhâr - Mist Home. This is not part of the Tolkien legendarium. Mist Home or Niflheim was one of the Nine Worlds of Norse mythology and believed the realm of the goddess Hel, daughter of Loki. It was where those who had not died an heroic or notable death went to in the afterlife.  
> mahdulyusth-hu - his soulmate  
> 'Aimugalikh - Good voyage  
> irak'adad - uncle  
> Akhminruki astû, uzbadê - Thank you grateful, my king.  
> umralê - my beloved


	24. The Halls of Lord Suthri

The furthest he had ever travelled before was on that fateful hunting trip on which he and Thorin had first kissed. It felt kind of strangely liberating that his next furthest trip would take him away from those memories. Not that he regretted them; quite the opposite. That first kiss and every kiss and touch thereafter he savoured like a delicate treasure. But he had had to keep the treasure chest closed and firmly locked or he would lose himself to that spiralling abyss that opened up every time he dared to look inside. He could no longer gaze upon those memories without them being tainted by what had come to pass between them. He could no longer think of Thorin, his love, his life, without that stabbing feeling going deep into his heart. Although dwarves rarely truly fell in love, he had heard of the concept of a broken heart. But he could never have imagined how much it would truly feel like his heart had been shattered. That it would actually be a physical pain that stabbed deep into his chest.

He relishes the daytime. When he is in charge of his small group of bucks and has to make decisions as their leader – not big ones, just where to stop and camp for the night or when to take a break to give his men a moment to stretch their legs and relieve their bladders - but still decisions that others depend upon. And they keep his mind focused on his tasks, on his responsibilities. It is during the long hours in the saddle that he can fill his thoughts with the new experiences and pictures of the amazing world beyond the northern mountains as the rest of the world stretches out before them, down the valley, across the Khagal’ân and into the distant mountain ranges.

But the nights he dreads, when alone in his bedroll he knows that he will be there in his thoughts, in his dreams. Always there, sometimes smiling and kissing him and occasionally making love to him and other times scowling and sending him away from him, telling him that loving him had been a mistake. Either vision ultimately leaves him feeling hollow, alone and infinitely sad. And every day he prays silently to Mahal that He will take his curse away and let him move on. That if Thorin and he cannot be together that he will be allowed to love another.

The first town they come to are the Elvish twin harbour-towns Thafarsilafîn, Grey Havens in the common tongue. His brother had told him plenty about it when he had visited the estuary, but as always tales could never really do reality justice. Having never seen any Elvish architecture before Kíli is simply awestruck when their tall arched structures come in to view. Whereas the dwarven architecture that he is familiar with is strong and bold, with hard straight lines hewn into stone, the Elvish architecture is almost organic, with their delicate curves flowing effortlessly over into the surrounding cliffs and wood blending in with stone as if they were part of the same material.

He looks at his companions, seeing the same look of awe on the faces of the younger warriors he had chosen, although the older generation have that sour look that he knows so well from Thorin and Dwalin whenever elves were mentioned. He shrugs. He understands that Thorin and his generation dislike the elvenfolk for abandoning them when Azsâlul'abad fell under attack. And he knows his people are ones to hold on to a grudge for a lifetime. But a century has passed since those days and new generations have been born. Holding on to old wounds that really related to the decisions of few was not helpful to anyone. And so Kíli decides there and then that he wants to spend some time getting to know the elves and their culture. He is intrigued by them even before he has met one. If nothing else it goes against everything that Thorin wants. And in his stubborn defiance against his lover anything that Thorin disapproves of suddenly is of great interest to the rebellious prince.  

He has brought a translator with him as Balin had told him he needed to do. But to his pleasant surprise they are greeted in the Common Speech. He grins at the realisation that it is Thorin’s point blank refusal to converse with the elves that obstructs communications with them, rather than a language barrier.

Nonetheless when he has to crane his neck to look into the dark eyes of the elven guard who addresses him he instantly understands why his people hate the elves – apart from their strained history – as the tall creature makes him feel like a child rather than a warrior prince. “I am Prince Kíli of the House of Durin, sister-son of King Thorin,” he finds himself puffing up like a crow. “We are travelling to the Southern Ered Luin and we seek a room for the night and refreshments for our ponies.”

The guard eyes the dwarven company for but a blink of an eye and then opens his palm out from his heart in the elven gesture of friendship. “Welcome to Mithlond, Prince Kíli of the royal line of Durin. We will escort you and your company to the inn where you will find food and lodgings and a stable for your horses.”

 _Are you sure?_   Vrar signs to him, but Kíli gives him a silent response that is as much a sign of reassurance as an order to follow him as they are accompanied by the elvish guards through the busy town.

He had expected the elvish inns to be unwelcoming as he had always been taught the elves were a stiff and haughty race. And so Kíli is surprised when he finds the traveller’s rest to be cosy and lively. As they are served generous plates of food he notes that although it’s not as good as what he is used to at home, the vegetables are fresh as is the fish and it fills their bellies with more than dried meats and hard bread they have eaten for the last few days. And as he looks around the table at his companions toasting with the sour wine, which after the third goblet is going down well enough, he is happy to find that his younger companions have dropped their guard and are enjoying themselves as they chat and laugh with some of the elven guests.

He also notes the scowl of disapproval from the elders in his company, but Kíli smirks contently. Thorin had always been infallible in his eyes. Almost godly. He looked up to everything his uncle said and did as if it with written in The Scrolls. But here, amongst those whom Kíli had always been told were the enemy and yet who so far had turned out to be remarkably welcoming hosts, for the first time in his life he can see a flaw in his uncle’s stubbornness and some of his decisions. And it is refreshing.

Nonetheless as his thoughts travel back home that sadness boils up inside him again. He misses him. It does not seem to matter how angry he is with the way Thorin had led him to believe he loved him as much as Kíli loved him no matter what, only to push him aside when things got too difficult. He still wishes for those strong arms to wrap around him. For those surprisingly soft lips to brush against his own. To feel the heat of Thorin’s body envelop him completely until he feels like they are part of the same. And as his hand rests on the hidden pendant once more he sighs deeply. He is so confused by Thorin’s actions, by him telling him to keep his distance on the one hand and whispering in his ear that he will be in his thoughts on the other. In his heart of hearts he knows that Thorin still loves him. That he wants them to be together but is afraid of what might happen if they do.

But that is the bit that really frustrates Kíli. This is not some lowly dwarf, this is Thorin Oakenshield, King of Durin’s Folk, heir to Zebdar’egam! Of all dwarves in Middle Earth his lover has the most influence; his word is rule. Of course there is Gorm, but Kíli has never really understood the Kehnar’s role. Why do the dwarven need Gorm to tell them what Mahal wants when they can ask their Maker directly? He does not need another dwarf to explain the words of the gods to him when he is perfectly capable of doing that himself. Especially since the Kehnar’s instructions appear to be at odds with what Mahal has told him directly. Then why will Thorin not speak out and explain that what they are doing is not wrong? That this is Mahal’s wish. The solution seems so simple to Kíli and that makes it even harder to accept his situation.

He sighs in frustration and gets to his feet, motioning to his companions that he is retiring for the night and that he expects them to do the same. And that if they do not they are still expected to report to him fresh and early in the morning so on their heads be it if they let the elvish wine get to them.

As he slides himself under the soft feathery blanket – so much lighter than the thick furs at home and yet just as warm – he suddenly feels infinitely young and vulnerable without his brother or uncle at his side. His insecurities are eating at him and he wraps the blanket tighter around him. He had wished for an opportunity like this – to prove himself as a buck and a warrior – even before he came of age. But now that the moment is here it is daunting and the responsibility feels enormous. A little homesickness pulses through him as he thinks of his kin seated around the table without him, of his brother sleeping in their room alone. And Thorin … No matter how hard he tries not to think of him he is there in every thought, in every breath he takes.

“Amralizu …” he whispers sadly into the darkness of the room, his fist wrapped tight around the golden pendant, before he pulls the blanket even closer, seeking what little comfort he can find.

***

He had known from the very first moment when he had lost his mind and kissed Kíli that he was playing with fire. It was not even for the fact that he was breaking every dwarvish law by courting his sister-son. Had it had been sensible, quiet Fíli he was sure that they would have been able to spend a lifetime sharing their love in secret. But loving Kíli was like forging a sword without protective gloves.  You knew that no matter how careful you were one day you would end up getting burnt. Everything he loved about Kíli – his sense of adventure, his untamed enthusiasm and his fiery passion; all those things that reminded him of how he had once been before his easy life had been ripped apart – was also what drove them closer and closer to the edge of the cliff each day.

And so he knows that his decision, on recommendation from his sister, to send his young lover to Zabad Suthri’s court had been a wise one. They needed to be apart. They needed that space, that distance. Being in too close a proximity to each other was impossible; too dangerous, too tempting … Besides now that he had made the decision to keep their relationship platonic, seeing the disappointment on his lover’s face each time he distanced himself had been awful. He could not deal with that look of hurt every time he turned a corner. At least now that Kíli was on the road he no longer had to face that each day. And he really hoped that it would do Kíli some good. The lad had never been away from Fahamkhagal’abbad without him or his brother. But he was in safe hands. Balin had relayed the names of Kíli’s company and Thorin was content with his nephew’s choices. A good mix of dwarves, all loyal and strong, and he knew that they would each lay down their life for the young prince should they ever have to.

He has thrown himself into his new duties as king. Although he had scolded Fíli for suggesting that he would abandon his work in the forge as soon as he rose to the throne, in reality his people have demanded it of him. Now that he had allowed Durin’s folk to settle here in Khagal’abbad they expect their king to be king, not some labourer for the valley-men and women. So Dwalin had offered to take over his duties in the forge until Fíli was old enough to run the business on his own, whilst Thorin spends most of his days in council with Balin. He needs to develop a fair but sustainable levy system so that they can begin to invest in the development and reinforcement of their mountain home. He needs to firm up trade alliances with other races. And he needs to send couriers to Zabad Daín to enforce his rule. At least Balin and he are talking again now that he has taken action that his advisor approves of.

He relished those days full of activity, finally taking up his birth-right as King of Durin’s folk. He knows full well that there would be challenges from the other Zabbad soon. Challenges over his title and claim to the throne. There was nowhere that said that he could not be king over his own people and it was his right to claim that title with the support of Durin’s folk. But he understands the politics. And although the Clan of Durin had always been considered the strongest, the most important of all dwarven clans – after all they were descendants of Durin himself and he came from a long line of kings - elevating the Durin clan to a kingdom above the other clans without their unified approval, without the Arkenstone, was a political move that would no doubt stir some trouble along the way. But he would just have to deal with that as and when such challenges came. At least it keeps his mind busy.

Yet he cannot stop that anxiety that pulses through him every time his thoughts drift ever so slightly. There were so many dangers on the roads. And Kíli is so young still. He hates Kíli not being in his eyesight. He hates not knowing exactly where he is or that he is safe. He knows that as soon as the company arrives at Suthri’s court the lord would be sent confirmation of their safe arrival and Kíli had not yet been gone four days. But it feels like he had been without Kíli for a lifetime already and he almost had to physically restrain himself from riding on after him.

And as he retires to his rooms for the fourth night since Kíli’s departure, his worries for his lover return. As well as his desires. Every night he thinks back to the very first time Kíli had made love to him. To feel Kíli inside him as his heat pulsed through every bit of his body. To watch him come undone in his arms. And to the other time when he had lain with him and had felt that intense heat wrap around his sex until he had lost himself inside his lover. He knows it was wrong to do so. He knows he should never have allowed it to happen. But oh it had been so delicious and he craves for that feeling of joining their love together physically again more than he ever thought he would.  His resolution had seemed so simple. After all he had spent a lifetime spanning well over a century in celibacy. But it had been easy when he had not known what he was missing. When he had not been so head over heels in love. But now every cell in him seemed to scream with want to be with Kíli, to feel him and make him his again. Even to just kiss him, hold him. And he had spent night after night tossing and turning restlessly, his dreams always full of Kíli, of his beautiful brown eyes, his unbraidable wild hair, his cheeky smile and his warm body lying against his.

As he lays his head on the pillow and pulls up the furs he turns his head to look at the empty space next to him. Once he was a king without a crown. Now he is a king with a crown but without a consort. He knows that it has been the right thing to do to send Kíli away for a while. But after only four days he already begins to regret it as he falls asleep alone once more, feeling more lonely than he ever has before.

***

Kíli steers his pony up the steep slope that leads to the stronghold of Zabad Suthri. They have travelled for well over a week and despite the refreshment in the Elvish harbour towns, he and his companions are tired and in need of a bath and a hot meal.

Immediately he notices that the Southern Mountains are quite different to the Northern settlement that he has grown up in. Like Thorin’s Halls and like all dwarven settlements the community lives in halls dug into the mountains. But Thorin’s Halls are one intricate network of halls and tunnels and delves that are all ultimately connected to one main entrance. It makes for easier defence as the fortress is a completely self-contained kingdom that can shut its doors to the outside world if necessary and continue as normal for a significant length of time. But Lord Suthri’s home is not like that. Here there appear to be lots of unconnected shallow caves that rise up high into the mountains in a tiered sort of set up.

He is even more surprised when he sees bucks and dams stand together as they line the road to greet him and his companions. He glances over to Vrar, the oldest in his company, and one who has been in the Southern Mountains with Thorin before. The elder shakes his head and signs to him that he will answer questions later. And Kíli realises immediately that this assignment is going to be more challenging but also more interesting than he first thought.

As the Farakân – the dwarves of the Southern Mountains – bow deep before him he feels himself sit up a little straighter in the saddle, suddenly realising that he is the highest ranking dwarf here now. Up till now he had always been in Thorin, Dís and Fíli’s shadow as his elders in the royal line. And he feels rather important all of a sudden. Never before had he thought about his lineage. Never before did anyone bow this deep before him. The Fahamân of the Northern Mountains of course hold him in high regard as one of the royal family, but they do not tend to treat him - or his kin for that matter – with quite the same reverence as these dwarves seem to do.

A very short broad dwarf with a white beard almost down to the ground walks right up to him as he halts his pony. “Uzbad-dashat Kíli Zaharul Durinul, Uzraku Shumr Faham, dashatu zabdûna Dís, irak’dashatu Uzbad Thorin Thraínul,” the old dwarf bends down so low that Kíli is worried that he may never get up again. The young prince stifles a giggle. That is an awfully long title and he is glad he is not expected to say all that every time he introduces himself. “Welcome to Farak-Khagal’abbad. Zabad Suthri awaits your arrival. I am Hórth, his Lordship’s advisor. Would you and your company please follow me.”

Kíli nods to his travel companions and dismounts, watching the others do the same. Immediately dwarves shoot over to them to take the reins and lead their tired animals towards a warm stable. Kíli smiles gratefully and follows the old dwarf further up the road towards the largest and grandest of the entrances into the mountain. The architecture really is quite unique. The large statues of dwarven warriors framing the gates are very similar to those at home. But the stonework surrounding the doors looks more like some of the elvish designs he had seen in Thafarsilafîn, although made to fit in with the general design of the dwarves and scaled to suit their shorter stature.

He follows his guide into the large building down the long hall which feeds deeper into the mountain. And he is quite taken aback as they venture inside.  These halls are shimmering with precious stones, the runes carved into the pillars filled with fine lines of pure gold. When Thorin has been crowned king Kíli had been in awe of the wealth and splendour their people had gathered into the throne room, making it truly a space fit for a dwarven king. But the rest of their mountain home in the north was surprisingly barren compared to this place. _This_ looks like a palace, with the riches of their people displayed wherever he turns. _This_ looks like the home of the mountain king, he cannot help think as he looks around.

“Welcome to Dûmu Zabad Suthri,” Hórth says, his voice echoing down the long hall as they come to a halt before a grand set of doors laid in with more jewels and gold and mithril. “Please wait here and I will check that His Lordship is ready to receive you now.”

Kíli raises an eyebrow at the older dwarf feeling a little uncomfortable with all this strange formality. After all he is the sister-son of Thorin, their king! and he has never had to stand outside waiting for Thorin to ‘receive him’. Surely Zabad Suthri should be more than ready to greet him since he had known he was coming? He actually finds he feels a little put out, but he pushes the emotion away. Perhaps this is how things are done back home as well, when Thorin receives important visitors. He just doesn’t notice it _because_ he is his nephew.

“The Southern faction has its own unique traditions and customs,” Vrar says softly as if reading his mind. “Balin has asked me to teach you them over the coming weeks.”

“Thank you,” Kíli smiles. “I did notice that things seem to be done somewhat different here.”

“Indeed. And when you meet Lord Suthri that will become even more apparent.”

Before Kíli has a chance to ask any more, Hórth returns, pushing the large doors open wide. “Zabad Suthri will now receive you, Uzrak Kíli Durinul. You may bring your personal guard and your advisor. The others I will take to the guest quarters so that they can refresh themselves.”

Vrar opens his mouth to protest at such insolence – it should be Kíli’s decision whom he brings in with him, not this lower dwarf lord. But Kíli raises his hand in silence. He knows his men are wary from travelling and he does not need to bore them with politics at this point. “Thank you, Hórth, I appreciate that. Vrar, Skirvir follow me. The rest of you are dismissed.”

As the others gratefully follow Hórth towards their allocated rooms, Kíli strides through the doors into the large reception hall. He has no idea what to expect. He had not bothered to ask anyone back home what Zabad Suthri was like, focused only on his goal to get away from Thorin and from the tension that hang between them. As he walks forward he is surprised to find the large hall set up like a throne room, with the Lord of the Southern Mountains sat on an elevated throne-like stone seat, decorated with more gold and precious stones. Zabad Suthri may be a lord, but he does not hold the same status as Barafzabbad let alone as Uzbad Thorin, therefore it feelssomewhat odd to Kíli to have to look up to this dwarf seated before him, one who ultimately ranks below him.

He straightens his back and pulls his shoulders down to broaden his frame a little as he tries hard not to frown at the dwarf before him. He does not want to cause offence straight away, but it is definitely not right that the other should be looking down on him and he is pretty sure that he would not have received Thorin under such a set up as there is no way his uncle would have accepted it from his subordinate.

“Uzrak Kíli,” Lord Suthri smiles brightly.

He is a around Thorin's age, Kili notes, but with a very long well braided beard, which appears to be the fashion here for bucks and dams alike. He guesses it makes sense, after all their people are known as Sigintarág - the Longbeards - although in Thorin’s court not all dwarrow keep their beards quite this long. Such things are impractical for a start unless you spend all day doing nothing too very laborious. And the dams back home tend to groom themselves in a different style to the bucks anyway. Nonetheless Kíli suddenly feels very self-conscious of that fact his beard is little more than a stubble still – feeling outwardly as young and inexperienced as he feels inside. And once again he wishes his uncle was at his side, to guide and guard him. _No! I am an adult and a warrior prince. I do not need Thorin to hold my hand_ , he scolds himself inwardly. “Zabad Kíli Durinul,” he corrects the one before him in a steady voice, reminding him of his place.

“Of course,” Lord Suthri smiles sweetly. “Forgive me, _Zabad_ Kíli, I meant no disrespect _._ ”

Kíli gives a curt smile and he knows instinctively that he is being tested. That is fine, he can hold his own. And he will not give the older dwarf an inch.

“And what brings you to my Court, Zabad Kíli?”

Kíli knits his brows together. He knows that a messenger had been sent to advise Zabad Suthri of his arrival so why is the other now pretending as if his visit has come as a complete surprise? He realises quickly it is another test. Perhaps one of his manner and his patience and he decides not to take the bait. Does the other expects his temper to flare as easily as Thorin’s does? That would be fair as they are much alike in their temperament. But this is _the_ opportunity to prove himself as an individual adult dwarf, and not just be seen as Thorin’s younger kin.

He takes a breath to calm himself and forces a cool smile around his lips. “As I believe you have been informed, Zabad Suthri, I am here on a three month assignment on order of Uzbad Thorin. I will be joining your Council during this period to gain an understanding of the affairs of this part of Thorin’s Kingdom. In particular I am to document the state of your defences and any weaknesses that I might observe. There have been increasing threats sighted between our factions and reinforcements may be required. Finally, for my own development I would like to learn more about the cultural differences between our factions, about your customs and local laws.” He takes another breath, steadying his voice, aware that he is blushing in his nervousness and cursing the redness in his cheeks but trying his best to ignore it. “I trust that you and your court will assist me where possible to achieve these objectives and that you will provide me and my companions with a safe and welcome home for the duration of my visit.” He briefly glances over to Vrar who gives him a surreptitiously nod of approval at which he feels some of the tension slide off his shoulders.

Zabad Suthri rises to his feet now, stepping down onto the steps before Kíli, although still maintaining his elevated position. Kíli notices the dwarf is very short indeed, even for their race. He is almost as broad as he is tall and his beard indeed reaches the tips of his boots. He bows his head to Kíli, nowhere near as deep as Hórth had done, but he seems to at least for the moment have accepted Kíli as his senior in rank even if the prince must be over a century his junior. “Welcome to Farak-Khagal’labbad, Zabad Kíli. You and your companions will be safe and welcome at my court and I will personally ensure that you are treated as if you were my own son.”

Kíli feels a shudder run through him as the dwarf lays a hand on his shoulder. _His own_ son? _What a very odd and inappropriate thing that is to say to someone senior in rank_ , he thinks _._ Although the Lord of the Farakânhas said nothing unkind, he already realises he is going to have to watch his back whilst he is here. And he thinks that perhaps he should have asked Balin more about this dwarf and the Farakânbefore he came here. He will have to ensure that the first thing he does when he has the chance is to interrogate Vrar on such matters. He sure has an awful lot to learn, he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khagal’ân - Blue River (the river Luhn)  
> Zebdar’egam - Throne of the High King  
> Fahamkhagal’abbad - Northern Blue Mountains  
> Zabbad - lords (plural of zabad)  
> Uzbad-dashat Kíli Zaharul Durinul, Uzraku Shumr Faham, dashatu zabdûna Dís, irak’dashatu Uzbad Thorin Thraínul - Prince Kili of the House of Durin, Captain of the Northern Guard, son of lady Dis, nephew of King Thorin, son of Thrain  
> Dûmu Zabad Suthri - The Halls of Lord Suthri  
> Uzrak - Lit. Master. Here Captain in reference to Uzraku Shumr  
> Barafzabbad - Clan Lords  
> Farak-Khagal’labbad - Southern Blue Mountains


	25. Letting Go

Dwalin glances over at the young prince riding by his side. They are both tired. The forge has been busy these last few weeks, but that is always good news and neither they nor their assistants, who ride a little distance behind them, mind the hard work.

When Thorin had asked him to take over his duties, having come to the realisation that setting up permanently in Khagal’abbad and taking up the throne of Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul required a lot more of his time and attention than he had first thought, Dwalin had reluctantly accepted. He did not really want to spend his days sweating for the valley folk and with Kíli away at the moment he really had enough on his plate covering for the brunet prince’s duties also.  But if that was his King’s order then he would oblige.

However, Fíli had quickly proven himself as a suitable replacement for his uncle, blooming now that his elder was no longer there to watch over his every move. Indeed he was a skilled blacksmith with a steady hand, a good eye for quality and a keen ear for trade opportunities. Dwalin had only needed to aid him to process the volumes of work that flowed through the smithy until Fíli had had the opportunity to train another apprentice. But as soon as that was done Fíli would be more than capable of managing the business on his own.

“Ye’ve have done well, Master Fíli,” he nods to the fair-haired prince. “I will report back to Thorin to let him know that ya run the smithy very well without my help.”

“Thank you, Dwalin,” Fíli smiles brightly, although a frown falls over his face quickly after. “Will you not be joining me anymore?”

He had grown fond of the company of the big warrior over these last few weeks. With Kíli far away in the Southern faction and Thorin being completely caught up in his new duties and responsibilities, he has felt a little lonely. And although Dwalin was a little rough in some of his words and manners, once you got to know him he really was a very loyal dwarf with a big heart. And he could be rather funny too, Fíli had learnt, as he had amused him with his tales of the mischief he and Thorin had got up to in their younger years. About his mother and about Frerin, the uncle he had never known.

Dwalin looks at him, cocking his head a little. “I will assist ya for as long as ye wish me to, Master Fíli. But ye do not need me to help ya manage the forge, y’re more than capable of doing that without me.”

“Thank you,” Fíli smiles. “But I would wish it that you continued to help out for now. I mean, if that is not too inconvenient for you that is. It means we can take on a little more work and bring more coin home.” He looks at the mane of his pony, stroking the animal’s coarse hair. “And I like your company,” he says softly.

Dwalin glances over in surprise.  There are not many dwarves who have said that to him in his lifetime. He knows of himself that he can be moody and sullen and he is not normally an easy talker, feeling more secure in the strength of his arms than his tongue. Besides, with his high rank and his close links to the House of Durin there are few who just come up to him for a casual chat.

But Fíli … Somehow the prince had managed to lower his barriers. He had found his young companion easy to get along with, easy to talk to. Up till now he had spent far more time with brazen, cheeky Kíli who was so very much like Thorin had been once that he sometimes had to blink hard to remind himself whom he was talking to. But Fíli was completely the opposite. Whereas Kíli was loud and brash in his behaviour, they were the mask of a sensitive and sometimes insecure soul underneath. Fíli’s quiet exterior however gave a false impression of shyness, compared to his much more extroverted brother. But woe the fool who would be mistaken to think the older brother was weaker because of his unobtrusiveness, for his fire burnt just as hot as his brother’s. He just was able to control it better and utilise it to his advantage, like one would expect of a master of the forge. As young as he was, Dwalin has been impressed by the surety with which he made decisions. And even when he choose wrong, he was never afraid to admit to his mistakes and deal with their fallout. He was never shy to give his opinion, to argue a point if he felt strongly enough about it. Equally though, he did not argue for the sake of arguing. If Dwalin pointed out a better way of doing something, then Fíli was more than willing to listen. And he never needed telling twice. Already he has earnt Dwalin’s respect, which few could claim.

“Then I’ll ask Thorin permission to continue to help ya out for a while longer,” he grumbles softly.

“I will ask him tonight, at dinner,” Fíli says instead and Dwalin nods.

It is strange to be in the close company of someone so much younger – someone he has known since he was a newborn – and yet of a higher standing than him. He had only ever thought of Fíli as a child up to now; Dís’ child. Only at Zannu Abkân had he briefly glanced at him in a different light. But he had ignored that thought just as quickly, reminding himself of his duty and promise to Thorin to assist his friend with his own predicament regarding Kíli that night.

Now he throws a quick glance at the prince riding closely next to him. Fíli has not been a child for almost a decade now. And although his youth is still apparent in his features, he really is remarkably mature for his age. Then again Thorin has always been strict with him, much stricter than with little rebellious Kíli. “You miss your brother,” he states out loud, although it was really just an observation.

Fíli looks at him and nods. “I know he has only been gone a few weeks. But yes, I do miss him. A lot. We have been so close for so long and it is just strange not to come home to him to hear how his day has been and tell him about mine. To have no-one to go to the tavern with.”

“I can keep ya company,” Dwalin blurts out. Instantly he regrets saying it. It is not like he has made an inappropriate proposal to the young prince, which of course would not be acceptable outside of their festivals. Nonetheless it feels wrong to be so forward to one of a higher rank, even if it is Fíli. “Apologies,” he mumbles, “I mean …”

But Fíli smiles brightly. “I would very much like that.”

***

Thorin has no problem with Fíli’s request to have Dwalin assist him in the blacksmith’s for a while longer. It is reassuring to know that his best friend and most trusted guard is keeping an eye on his older nephew; at least that is one worry off his mind. He takes the opportunity to praise his sister-son for his successful management of the forge in his absence after his earlier conversation with Dwalin. And he feels a lot of love for the blond prince as Fíli beams proudly back at the compliment. Suddenly he realises that between his new duties and his constant fretting over Kíli he has neglected his relationship with Fíli somewhat.

“Would you like to go hunting with me after the full moon?” he asks and Fíli looks at him in surprise.

They both know he has only asked him because Kíli is not here, but it does not bother Fíli. It will be nice to spend some time with Thorin. He misses his uncle too. Everything has changed so suddenly over the last moon cycle and he is not going to be proud over being second choice. Of course Thorin would prefer to go with Kíli – he is his sweetheart after all. But he will be more than happy to assist Thorin and spend some time alone with his uncle. “I would love to, Thorin,” he smiles.

“That is settled then,” Thorin ruffles his golden hair. “Oh, and there is a letter for you. From your brother,” he picks the sealed scroll from the pile of paperwork on his desk. “He has arrived safe and well at Suthri’s court,” he relates the message in his own letter. It had said little more than that and Thorin had caught himself feeling somewhat sad about that even though he full well knew there would and could be nothing else. Even if Kíli wasn’t angry with him, they could never put anything in writing that hinted towards their feelings for each other. Nonetheless seeing Kíli’s messy handwriting had stirred a deep longing to tell him how much he missed him.

Fíli seems to note his emotions as he replies, “I am glad to hear that, uncle. I know you have worried about him too.”

He takes the scrolls as Thorin gives him a curt nod and wishes his uncle a goodnight before he disappears back to his own chambers with the letter from his brother.

 

_Dearest Fíli_

_I have arrived in the Farak-Khagal’abbad. The journey was good. The world beyond the mountains is amazing! I cannot wait to explore more of it with you._

_We stayed in Thafarsilafîn and I loved it! The harbour was like nothing I had seen before. I remember you saying how tall everything was, but I could not have imagined! The elves themselves are curious creatures. But I did not find them unkind towards us. In fact they treated us with much respect and served me and my company well. And when I have finished my assignment I would like to stay a few days in their town and learn more about their way of life._

_The Southern Mountains are so different. I find their customs somewhat odd. Lord Suthri is very ~~haughty~~ formal compared to how things are done back home. I wonder if you found the same or whether he was different when you were here._

_I have not spoken to many of the other dwarves yet but the ones I have met are all very subservient to me; treat me really as royalty. First it felt quite good, but it makes for difficult conversation. There are all these rules here about who can talk to whom and when. Hopefully things will get easier once I start my work here. Maybe they are just wary of strangers. But right now it feels as if the Farakân are of a different Clan to us. I guess I was not expecting to feel so much like a foreigner here._

_Did you see Suthri’s Halls? Wow, how very grand! The rest of the dwarrow here seem to live in more ~~poor~~ modest homes, although I have not yet been inside one. Don’t you think it is odd how they do not connect to the Halls? How each live in their own dwelling. I am going on patrol tomorrow and I would be curious to learn how they defend their homes._

_Anyhow, how are things with you? Has the forge been busy? Have things changed at home now? How has ‘amad been? Do you miss me?_

_I promise to write again soon. Have to finish now as the messenger will be leaving shortly._

_Zai_ _adshânzu,_

_Kíli_

 

Fil smiles at the letter. He can hear his brother’s enthusiasm and curiosity in some of the written words and he is glad that his brother appears to be settling in even if he too has found the court of Lord Suthri somewhat alien to how Thorin runs the affairs in the North. When he had visited in Thorin’s company they had had little time to look around, but even so it has been very apparent to Fíli that there were vast differences between their factions even if, as Kíli had pointed out, they were part of the same Clan.

It does not go unnoticed, however, that Kíli has not mentioned their uncle’s name once in the short letter. And he wonders how Kíli is coping with their separation. Although Fíli is impressed by how grown up his little brother sounds in the letter, he knows him well enough. And he can read the frustration, the lingering anger and the deep sadness in the unwritten lines.

*******

**A month later …**

*******

Kíli has lived amongst the Farakân for over a moon cycle now and the longer he is here the more their differences to their Northern kin are becoming apparent to him. It is very strange to feel more like an alien amongst other dwarves than he had amongst the elves. Perhaps it just feels more so because he had expected to be treated like an outsider by the elvish race and of course their differences were so outwardly apparent. But these are his people, his Clan, his uncle’s subjects. And yet some of their ways and customs are so completely alien to what he is used to back home that they might as well not be dwarves.

For a start he cannot get used to bucks and dams mixing in their daily lives. Every day still he is surprised to bump into dams on his way to Suthri’s court. It seems that there are many more female dwarves here in the Southern Mountains although when he asked Vrar about it he had said it was not so but that it just seemed that way as they were more visible. They do not live together – here too they adhere to that being reserved for the sanctity of soulmates only. But they do live among each other, work among each other. Although they clearly each have their own tasks. In fact whereas back home males and females live separately but hold equal standing and carry out similar duties, here where they live together the dams appear to all be of lower rank than any of the bucks, carrying out the more menial tasks for their male counterparts. And it is making Kíli feel rather uncomfortable. He wonders often if Thorin is aware of this and whether he approves or disapproves or simply does not care.

And then there are all the formal greetings. At home the bucks occasionally call each other Uzrak or when it comes to himself Zabad and in anything more official the father’s would be quoted depending on who holds the higher standing. But generally they call each other by their name in the common tongue and that’s it. Even Thorin most dwarves just call just by his known name and his uncle had never made an issue of this. But here in the Southern Mountains everyone seems insistent on quoting as many titles as possible and it is already beginning to drive Kíli mad; an unnecessary formality that adds very little value to any conversation and just means that the already tedious council meetings take an age before they have even started to discuss anything for no real benefit at all.

Generally the whole ranking system that they use back home is really largely a formality. Of course Thorin and his family are treated with respect as they are royalty. But generally people go about their daily lives not caring overly about whether the person they are talking to ranks higher or longer than they do, except for art of courtship of course. But here in the Southern faction everything seems to revolve around who ranks above whom. Even talking to each other is restricted by ranks and anyone more than two ranks below him is not allowed to speak directly to him. It makes for rather awkward interaction with others, when he has to talk in their own language through a third party. And at times like that he wants to shake them and tell them to stop being so damned complicated and stupid. That life is difficult enough without even more silly rules that makes for causing easy offence at every situation.  Already Vrar has had to help him out of somewhat delicate situations more than once, when he had chosen the wrong title or spoken to someone too far below his status. And he thinks how easy going the dwarves back home are in comparison.

At least the other dwarrow he has met so far – that is those that are allowed to speak with him, who because of his status are few and far between – are kind. They all treat him with far too much veneration and it has taken him up until now to win their trust enough that they feel comfortable hanging out with him. But slowly but surely he is beginning to make some friends. And the bucks his age are friendly and very curious about what life is like in the Northern Mountains. None of them have ever had an opportunity to speak to someone from the Northern faction, let alone one of the princes of Durin. Yet he does wish they would just treat him like any other buck when his official duties for the day are over and he just wants to join them for a drink in the tavern. It is very tiring to be treated like a superior to everyone else all the time, with everyone constantly on their guard around him. And he really misses Fíli.

He really misses Thorin too…

And then there is Lord Suthri. He is never unkind to Kíli and has never denied him anything during his stay so far. He has been graciously generous towards Kíli’s companions and has treated all of them with due respect. But there is just something about him that Kíli does not like. He cannot put his finger on exactly what the dwarf says or does, but he always manages to make Kíli feel like a child. Like his assignment is just a classroom and Suthri his elder, ready to lay the cane over his hands like Balin used to do. He wishes he could put into words what it is that the other does that makes him feel like that, but Lord Suthri is clever and tactful enough never to make it too obvious. Yet it makes Kíli distrust him. He feels there is a game being played behind his back and he is just not quite quick enough to turn around and catch anyone in the act. But as time goes on he is beginning to doubt the sincerity of any words spoken to his face by Suthri and his direct courtiers more and more.  

He wonders what Thorin thinks of this lower lord. He feels a little surprised that Thorin lets this dwarf treat his people so very differently than he does himself and he wonders why his uncle has not enforced his rule more in the southern mountains. It does seem strange somehow that Thorin has given such a large part of his kingdom to be safeguarded by the hands of someone who does not seem to agree with the customs or rulings of the House of Durin and he is not even sure that he would count Suthri as an ally. In truth he had never heard Thorin speak with any emotion about Lord Suthri, neither good nor bad, and he is not really clear what sort of relationship the two of them have. But then again Kíli had never bothered much with Thorin’s political affairs. If it hadn’t offered him a way out of Thorin’s Halls and an opportunity to explore more of Middle Earth he would have pulled his nose up at this particular assignment also. Sitting in endless council meetings was boring as anything and he had already mapped out Suthri’s defences twice and did not really know how much more he could do in another two months without just repeating himself over and over again.

He finishes his letter and cleans his quill before blowing the ink dry and then carefully rolling the scroll and sealing it with his seal. He had not been able to say all those things and thoughts in his letter. He did not feel one hundred percent confident that Suthri’s courier would not be instructed to read the letter to his brother, even if it would be considered an act of gross offence if he did. And so he had kept his words fairly neutral, knowing that his brother would read enough between the lines.

***

Fíli is sat alone in his chamber, throwing his throwing axes at the wooden board at the other end of the room and he feels bored out of his mind. He really misses his little brother now. He even misses him being a pain in the arse, hiding his clothes, stealing his pillow, keeping him up until the early morning with his silly chatter when they both have to work the next day.  It feels like his brother has been gone for years. The first week it had felt weird not having Kíli around. The couple of weeks thereafter it had felt kind of exciting to have his bedchamber to himself and he had made the most of it, bedding a very handsome buck who had been giving him ample signs in the hope of his courtship. The sex had been good – and it had been nice not to have to be too quiet either, knowing the walls of his chambers were thick and pretty much sound proof. But Fíli found that the novelty had begun to wear off pretty quickly, as it always did.

He now wonders if maybe he should not have been so quick to release his lover, who at least had given him some companionship even if there had not been much talking involved, from his duties. Truth is that although since his coming of age he had enjoyed plenty of courtships he is starting to get a little bored with bedding his ample admirers just to have something to do. He laughs at himself. He is not even fifty yet and already he sounds like an old goat. Suddenly he worries - he is not going off sex at his age now is he? And become a romantic hermit like Thorin for the rest of his days? He shudders at the thought of it.

No, it is not that. It is not that he does not like sex anymore. It is not that he has become a priest and surrendered his sex life in favour of prayers overnight. But having seen Kíli swoon over Thorin like there is nothing else for him in the world but his lover … Suddenly he realises he wants that too. He feels horrible even thinking it. Knowing how much pain his brother had been in over the complications of his blessing it hardly seemed an attractive prospect – then again Kíli’s situation is somewhat unique. Nonetheless Fíli wants to experience that; to actually want to be with another every moment of the day and night. To be able to think of nothing else but the next time you will see that dwarf again. To want to lie in the other’s arms long after the peak of pleasure has already past…

And he knows damn well who it is that is playing with his mind like this. He just has no idea what to do about it.

He possibly holds Dwalin in even higher regard than Thorin. They are both mighty warriors, high in status and many years his elder. But Thorin is his kin, his mother’s brother, and he has been close to him all his life. Even though since his coming of age Thorin had started to treat him much more as his heir and much less like his baby nephew, and even if he was nowhere near as close to Thorin as Kíli was – clearly! – they were familiar enough and he felt no distance between him and his uncle.

But Dwalin had only ever been Thorin’s best friend and personal guard. His relationship with the big dwarf up until very recently had only been via Thorin. It was only now that he was helping him in the forge every day that he was getting to know him a little better. And he found him kind and caring despite his brisk mannerisms and crude sense of humour that one had to learn not to take too personal. And attractive …

He catches himself as that thought seems to float in mid-air. Attractive? Never before had he associated that word with Dwalin. True, he had always favoured his male bed-partners to be strong, broad-build dwarves. That in itself was hardly an odd preference because such was an image his people favoured. But Dwalin was something else. Twice the age of many of his previous suitors and one who many feared as much as they respected with his fierce looks and battle tattoos and slowly receding Mohican. And yet ...

_You are the higher ranking one. If you want to bed him, you will have to be the one to say it._

Damn!

He drops his axe as he shivers at the thought. On the one hand he barely dares think it and the thought of asking Dwalin if he’d like to come to his bed suddenly seems outrageous. On the other hand … Why not? Kíli slept with Thorin and raved about him! Maybe having an older lover, who is happy to take his time with such matters, is not such a bad idea. He bites his lip as his hand rubs through his breeches against his growing cock as he thinks about this heated fantasy.

_Would he want to?_

Fíli had never been turned down before and truthfully it was rare that anyone ever did turn down such an offer, but with Dwalin he is not so sure. He is so very loyal to Thorin. Would he consider it inappropriate?

_You will never know unless you ask …_

Would he really have the guts to ask him? He sighs as for now he settles for the pleasure of his own hand. But the image that helps him climax is undeniably that of his new co-worker.

***

Life has changed far beyond his expectations. In his decennia of looking to the East Thorin had barely noticed just how much work there was to do in Khagal’abbad. He had never cared much for the simple home in which they lived there. For as long as it was secure, it was only temporary. But temporary it is no longer. Now that they are settling here his advisors are falling over themselves with designs and ideas on how to make their home a worthy dwarven kingdom to rival Khazad-dûm itself.

He smiles to himself as he closes the doors to his rooms, feeling a little more light in the heart then he has done for a long time. And to his surprise he has not once regretted his decision to let go of his lifelong dream and finally settle down.

As for Kíli, he knows his beloved has arrived safe and well at Suthri’s court and he should be receiving his first full report very shortly. He misses him – immensely so. But as the days have turned into weeks he has come to reconcile himself with the situation. All is as it should be – they are all safe and doing the jobs that Mahal assigned them. Surely that must please their Lord?

He had once more attempted to get some clarity from their Maker, but his prayers and offerings had been as futile then as his previous blood offer had been. Thorin does feel frustrated with Mahal. Not since Smaug had he felt so abandoned by the Father of the Dwarves. And he can only hope that doing everything in his power to make their kingdom strong and glorious once more, all in honour of Mahal, that their Lord would speak to him again and advise him on what he is to do with Kíli.  

He allows his attendants to take his royal mantle and his crown, as he gets ready to retire, before he dismisses them for the night. The fire is already smouldering softly in his hearth. Although it is nearly summer the warmth of the sun does not reach this deep into the mountain. He walks into his washroom, pulling loose his tunics in readiness for his nightgown. The basin is already filled with warm water for him and he splashes the water onto his face, washing away the day. He pulls the rough towel over his face, rubbing dry his skin and beard, and glances in the mirror.

He gasps at his reflection. “Kíli?”

He drops the towel into the basin, not even noticing he has done it. He blinks hard at the image in front of him. Of that cheeky smile, those beautiful dark eyes glistening with desire, that soft mouth that is begging him to kiss him, stirring such emotions inside him.

He shakes his head hard and rubs his hand over his face.

When he looks in the mirror again he sighs as much in relief as in disappointment. Of course it is his own reflection staring back at him. His mind is just playing tricks on him. He needs to pull himself together. He needs to get some sleep. And most of all he needs to let Kíli go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zai adshânzu - At your service


	26. Destiny

Kíli sighs deeply as he rips up the parchment in front of him and adds the ruined paper to the growing pile on his desk. He has started this report to Thorin over at least five times already and he is getting fed up with trying. He knows what he needs to say, after all this is the third letter he is writing to his king and reporting on his assignment and his duties is really not the issue. But that is quite different from what he really wants to say to his faraway lover.

He had tried, really tried to forget about Thorin. Initially all the new impressions and his new responsibilities had helped. And certainly during the daytime he was able to keep himself occupied enough not to let his mind wander. But now that he is sat here at his desk, forcing himself to talk to his uncle via the written word, he cannot help but think about Thorin not just as his King but as that which he had only been for him.

He longs so much now for those strong arms to wrap around him. To lie in his uncle’s embrace as Thorin whispers sweet nothings into his ear, presses little kisses into his hair. He had never felt the way that Thorin had made him feel before. It wasn’t just the sex for he knew that if it wasn’t for his blessing any dwarf could have given him that pleasure. But Thorin had given him so much more. He had made his heart blossom and bleed.

He sighs deeply as he looks at the fresh piece of parchment and begins to scribble the runes down. He knows he will not be able to send the courier away with this. He knows he will just have to burn it in his hearth afterwards. But he writes it nonetheless. The words just spill out onto the parchment in an uninterrupted flow. He needs to get it off his mind, out of his system or he feels he will go mad.

_ Thorin, my love, my life. _

_ I know this letter will never reach you. I know we are not allowed to talk about this. But I need to tell you, even if it is just through smoke and ash. Even if it is only in my dreams. I love you. I always have and I always will. I love you more than anything in this world. You can tell me a hundred times I must not say it. You can send me to the furthest corners of Middle Earth. But you will always be mahdulyasthûne _ .

_ I hate you for it. I hate myself for it. I curse this so-called blessing every day. If we cannot be together then why has my heart been given to you? I know you love me too. I know you are just trying to do what you think is right. But I do not want to live this life of loneliness for eternity. I could have lived with loving you in secret. I could have accepted never being able to kiss you but behind closed doors. But now you have even taken away those smallest of affections, that last token of our love. What is left if I cannot tell you how I feel, if I cannot show you how I feel? What is left between us but memories of something beautiful that we can never have again? _

_ Please tell me that I was not a mistake. I gave you my heart and body. Was that a mistake? You have hurt me. You have broken my heart. And still I desire you. Still I wish you would call me back, take me into your arms. You are always in my thoughts, always in my dreams. There will never be another, you know this. If it cannot be you then alone I will die. You are my One, my only. And you were never a mistake to me. You gave me your most precious gift to give and I will take that memory to my tomb. _

_ I don’t know why I am even writing this. You will never hear these words from me. I will live the lie you want me to live. But don’t ask me to live it in your shadow. If we cannot be together than I choose to be as far from you as possible. _

_  I miss ‘amad and I miss Fíli so very much too. But you I miss most of all and I cannot be that close and yet that far from you. To see but never to touch you again. To hear you speak, but never those words of love to me again. I cannot do that. I will be your captain, I will be your ambassador. I will honour the House of Durin. But do not ask me to bow before you again in your court like I am nothing to you but a subordinate. Do not ask of me to live within your Halls like any other dwarf. If I bring you such shame that you will not allow me at your side then I will relieve you from that burden. I will be away from you so that you do not have to look upon me again. So that you are not tempted into sin by me again.  _

_ Farewell my love, my life, my One. _

He stares at the letter in front of him, at the blotches where the ink has run into his tears. He stares and stares and the scramble of words until the runes fade into one big jumbled stain of ink in his distorted vision. Just like his feelings. Is that what he wants? To never return home? Never to see Thorin again? He doesn’t know. He feels just overrun with emotions and right now it is the truth. Right now he cannot see Thorin, cannot be around him.

He picks up the parchment and scrunches it up angrily before he throws the ball of paper into the open fire and watches it being absorbed by the flames that burn a little brighter as they lick up the ink. He continues to stare at the fire through a curtain of salty tears. Tears of hurt. Tears of anger. Tears of total desperation.

Suddenly he jumps up, grabs his coat and his bow and quiver and storms out of his quarters, slamming the door behind him. He cannot breathe. He needs air or he will surely choke to death. And he runs. He runs and he runs until the southern settlement fades into the night. Until the woods begin to surround him. He knows it is foolish, dangerous and reckless. But he doesn’t care. All sense appears to have left him tonight. The emotion that he has been trying to suppress for nigh two moon cycles spilling over into delirium.

He runs until he has lost all sense of direction and location. Until the woods have swallowed him and he cannot even see the moon through the dense canopy above. He comes to a halt, panting. And then he begins to laugh. A sad, hysterical laugh as he throws his arms in the air and twirls himself around, shouting, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?! DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME?! THEN DO IT!”

If Mahal decides his fate in love for him, then surely he decides too whether tonight he will live or die; if he will live through the night, in these strange lands, in these strange woods, or if he will be torn to shreds by the beasts that hunt here.

_ In your hands it is, Zabadu Ablâkul Khazâd! You have taken my love, now take my life also so that I can be free from this pain! _

***

He slowly opens one eye. He feels cold and his clothes are clammy with dew, but the sun shines through the treetops onto his face. He is confused. What is he doing here, in the middle of some strange woods?  Then he remembers. He remembers the letter and he remembers his moment of lovelorn madness. And he smiles softly at that memory as he rolls himself onto his back and stares up through the treetops. It is already promising to be a beautiful summer’s day. At home on a day like this he would be begging Dís and Thorin to let him and Fíli have a day off. And if such request was granted they would spend the day running through the woods or swimming in the cold mountain lakes. And he smiles at those memories too.

So Mahal has decided to spare him. He looks at his hands in the early morning sunlight. Not a scratch. Not even a mosquito bite. “Then this is Your decision, Zabad Ablâkul?” he calls up to the sky above him. “You will not even allow me to die?” And he laughs out loud, shuddering as the absurdity of the situation takes hold.

“You must have trust, little son of the earth.”

He cries out in fright and whips his head around, trying to find the source of the female voice that he heard clear as day and yet there is no-one here. “Who is there?!” he calls out, jumping to his feet and drawing an arrow against his bow. He does a full circle as he scans the area but he cannot determine the source of the voice.

“Lower your bow, little son of the earth.”

“Mahal!” Kíli screams as he swings aroundto face the woman who now sounds directly behind him. But there is nothing but a large tree in front of him. He narrows his eyes. And then he drops his bow in fright and complete disbelieve as the bark splits to reveal two large eyes staring back at him. This is not a tree. This is an ancient Ent, one of the protectors of the forest. And then as if from the bark itself appears the figure of a very tall woman, somewhat elflike in her height, with her very long hair, fine features and flowing robes. And yet so different ... Instantly Kíli falls to his knees again, staring in awe at the green-clad Vala. “Kaminzabdûna,” he bows his head deeply.

 “Kíli.”

“Milady, how …”

“How do I know your name, child of Durin? You are my husband’s earth-child. Descendant of his creation.” Kíli freezes as her hand reaches out and touches his face. For some reason he expects it to be cold, but it feels remarkably soft and warm and lifelike. “Your uncle blessed you when he gave you your name, earth-child.”

“Khajmûna,” Kíli whispers and he bows his head. _Giving-lady._ Mahal’s consort. Protectress of all things growing. Queen of the Earth.

“Look at me, earth-child.”

Kíli tentatively raises his eyes. He is afraid and yet he feels as if he is surrounded by a safety net. By an intangible love that is far beyond this world.

“Ask me.”

Kíli looks at her for a moment. _Ask me …_? And so he asks the first question that is on his tongue. “Why are you here, milady?”

But the green lady shakes her head with a smile. “That is not the question of your heart.”

Kíli swallows hard. No, it is not. He realises this is the answer to his desperate shouts. If Mahal will not speak to him then perhaps Ivanna will give him the answers he seeks. “Why Thorin?” he whispers. “Why did Mahal tell me he was mahdulyusthêwhen His own laws forbids us to be together?”

The green goddess kneels down before him. It looks almost as if she is shrinking in size, closer to Kíli’s dwarf form. “There will be many trials ahead for both of you, earth-child. But your heart must remain strong. He is your One and you belong to him as he belongs to you. The day will come when all seems lost. But you are the key. You will return the heart to your people. And the sun will rise on the throne of kings as it is foretold.”

Kíli frowns. “But…”

The green lady lays a finger on his lips to still him and then presses a kiss on his forehead. “Follow your heart, earth-child.”

***

He lands with a thud on the hard stone floor and looks around him, bewildered. How did he end up here in his chambers? Why did he just fall out of his bed when moments ago he was still knelt on the forest floor, touched by the hand of Mahal’s consort? _Was it really but moments ago?_ He has no idea, has lost all sense of reality and time. _Was it just a dream?_

He rubs his face. It did not seem like a dream. And as he looks down he finds he is fully clothed in the garments he wore last night and he can still see the stains of the damp earth on his knees. _Not a dream._ He feels in his knotted hair and pulls out an oak leaf. _Definitely not a dream._ A vision perhaps although who can tell what is real and what is not.

_ You are the key. You will return the heart to your people. The sun will rise on the throne of kings. _

He scrambles up and tries to find a clean bit of parchment, almost knocking over the pot of ink. He needs to write down those words before he forgets them. Although he instinctively knows that they are already engraved in his memory. He may not yet understand their meaning, but he knows that – whether it was a dream, a hallucination of his sorrowed madness, a vision or reality – Lady Ivanna has revealed something very important to him.

+++

“Is Dwalin not coming with us?” Fíli asks Thorin as they walk towards the stables. He had secretly hoped that Thorin’s guard would be.

But Thorin frowns at him. “Dwalin never goes hunting with me. He did not come with us the last time. Why would he now? Fíli, you know what happened in town and the matter has been resolved. I do not need Dwalin to watch my every move.”

Fíli lowers his eyes. “I just thought now that you are king…” he mumbles, even though it really has little to do with that. He stops talking though. This is not a good start.

Thorin quickly retracts his spikes. “Apologies, Fíli. I am tired is all.”

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Fíli replies softly. He had noticed that Thorin seems worn out these last few days. His eyes are sunk and his skin looks pale.

But Thorin shakes his head. “I will be fine. Some fresh air will do me good and besides ....” he throws his saddlebags over his steed and mounts his pony, watching Fíli do the same, “… I have been looking forward to this trip.”

Fíli smiles. He has too. This is the second time they are going hunting together and the previous time had been nice to spend some quality time alone with Thorin; an occasion which now was rare indeed as Thorin so often worked until late at night that he hardly saw his uncle these days.

Summer has well and truly fallen and the air is hot and clammy. They take it easy so as not to wear their animals down and they stop as soon as they reach the little mountain streams that runs off into Khagal’ândown in the valley to allow both their ponies and themselves a drink.

“How is business at the forge?” Thorin asks as he pulls a parcel of cold meat out of his bags and hands some to Fíli.

Fíli nods as he takes a bite, hungry from the ride, and empties his mouth, before he replies. “Really good. We have a lot more orders for fine jewellery now.”

“Well of course,” Thorin praises his sister-son. “You are very skilled in that particular trade. We always used to have clients ask specifically for you. You have a skilled hand and do our people proud with your talent.”

Fíli beams up at his uncle. “Really? Do you really mean that, Thorin?”

Thorin puts his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Of course I do, little prince,” he smiles. “I would never lie to you.”

“Never?” Fíli blurts out.

Thorin raises an eyebrow and looks closer at his heir. “Never,” he confirms. “Why do you ask? Have I ever given you reason to doubt that?”

Fíli shakes his add, blushing slightly. “No, Thorin,” he says quickly. “I … It is …” He takes a deep breath. Thorin does not like him stumbling over his words; he had reprimanded him for that from a very young age telling him that a king needed to speak with confidence and purpose. And so he asks, “Do you think Dwalin likes me?”

Thorin coughs his lunch down before he looks at Fíli again with wide eyes. “Dwalin?” he asks, wanting to make sure he has heard him right.

Fíli feels his cheeks burn and he stares at the ground, shuffling his feet – another habit that Thorin disapproves of. “Nevermind,” he says softly and turns towards his pony, ready to move on to their hunting spot.

Thorin stares at him in surprise. _Dwalin? Really?_ He had never thought to even consider his best friend and his heir in courtship. For a start Dwalin was more than twice Fíli’s age … Then he realises the absurdity of that thought, being guilty himself of courting one so many years his junior. “Dwalin …” he murmurs to himself. Then he smiles at Fíli, who does his best to ignore him as he is readying his pony to move on. “Do you like him?” he asks.

“Shall we move on to the hunting lodge now?” Fíli regrets raising the subject. Dwalin had played on his mind for weeks now, but he still had not built up the courage to approach him. And now he wishes he had kept his mouth shut.

Thorin has a grin on his face when he walks up to his steed nonetheless and pulls himself into the saddle. Once he is seated he looks over at his nephew again. “Don’t be embarrassed, Fíli,” he says gently. “I am sure you have heard a lot of things about me recently that I would rather you did not know about too.”

At that Fíli sniggers softly. It is true. He never thought he would get to hear the ins and outs – he blushes – of his uncle’s performance in the bedchamber.  He dares a glance back at Thorin, who too has a soft blush in his cheeks now. “Do you miss him?” He asks softly.

Thorin is taken aback at the sudden turn of the conversation. “Kíli?” He sighs and looks ahead into the distance. “I do.”

“You still love him?”

Thorin still, swallowing down the sickening heartache. “Of course I do,” he whispers. He glances back at Fíli. He knows he should not ask this and he also already knows the answers, and yet he cannot help himself when he asks softly, “Does … does he ever mention me in his letters to you?”

Fíli hesitates at the sadness he sees in Thorin’s eyes. But he has to shake his head. “He has not.” When he sees the devastation behind those pupils, he quickly adds, “But I am sure it is only because he does not want to risk anyone finding out. Just in case someone would intercept the message. I am sure he still loves you too, Thorin.”

Thorin sighs. “He was so upset with me when he left for Lord Suthri’s court … I have hurt him.”

Fíli swallows hard, not used to Thorin admitting something that personal to him. “It is complicated. Kíli knows it is,” he tries to say something positive. “But he is only hurt because he loves you more than anything, Thorin.”

Thorin nods. “As do I him. More than anything.” And with that he spurs on his pony.

“What is it like?” Fíli asks as they continue to ride on at a slow tempo, side by side. “To be in love?”

Thorin feels a bright smile fall over his face as he thinks of his love. “Wonderful. It is the most amazing feeling when you are with that person. Like nothing else matters but the two of you. Like the world could burn around you but it does not matter as long as the other is safe and with you.” He feels the sadness stab at his heart again. “Of course the thing is Kíli is never safe when he is with me,” he says, his voice thick with regret.

“I am sorry, Thorin,” Fíli says. “Really, I am. You two … you belong together. I wish it was not so complicated. You made him so happy.”

Thorin snorts. “I have confused matters for him. He will not forgive me some of the things I said. For what I have done.”

Fíli laughs. “Honestly, Thorin, you know him better than that! Kíli is stubborn and petulant. But he does not hold grudges. He just wants you to tell him that you love him. He thinks you regret him.”

“Never!” Thorin answers honestly. He had told Kíli so, but he realises now that Kíli had chosen to only listen to half of what he was saying. Then again, it was a trait that they shared. “I never regretted anything. I just want what is best for him.”

“ _You_ are.”

Thorin huffs. Words that sound so easy but are in fact impossible.  He decides to throw the conversation back to where they started, not wishing to drag out his heartache any further with talk of what cannot be. “The honest answer is that I do not know how Dwalin feels about you, Fíli. You will need to ask him that yourself. However, I cannot see why he would not like you. You are handsome, kind and of the royal line. You are an excellent craftsman and a strong fighter, both traits highly valued amongst our people.” He smiles at Fíli. “And if he did not, I would curse him for being a fool.”

Fíli smiles softly, but is silent as thoughts race through his head.

“Proposition him,” Thorin nudges him. “Dwalin would be a great suitor and I would very much approve. He is very loyal and trustworthy. He is strong. And he is a Durin.”

“Why have you never courted him?” Subtlety is something else but at least Fíli has asked the question that had plagued him for a long while now.

Thorin looks at him in surprise. He is not quite sure what to answer to that. He takes a deep breath and decides on the truth. He has just promised Fíli that he will never lie to him and so he will not. “I had intended to. I had intended for Dwalin to be my first, after the fire ritual. But many dark forces worked against my intention. My coming of age ritual was delayed because of our exile. And we rode straight into battle thereafter. I went into mourning at the loss of my brother and grandfather whilst Dwalin was still grieving for his parents. There never was the opportunity. Or the desire after so many losses.”

Fíli nods. That is understandable. “But later? When you had settled our people Khagal’abbad. Did you never …?” He feels he is pushing Thorin on something very private, but this opportunity will not present itself again.

Thorin blushes and turns his head away. “I felt embarrassed,” he says softly. “I am the highest ranking dwarf in Middle Earth and come the passing of my first centenary I had still not … I did not think anyone would wish to be courted by one as old and yet as inexperienced as me.” He sighs and whispers more to himself than anyone else, “Not even Dwalin.” He stares ahead, his face set hard. It is the truth but one that he had never spoken out loud before. In fact he had never even admitted it to himself. He had found a hundred and one excuses why he had not courted before Kíli had come of age. That he was too busy. That he was still mourning. That he would not give in to such lusts until he had returned his people to their rightful home. But the truth was he had been scared to make a fool of himself. Or worse, for his proposition to be turned down before he even had a chance to embarrass himself further.

He halts his pony and dismounts quickly, pulling his short bow out of his quiver, whilst leading his mount to the edge of the woods to tie it down whilst he goes in search of prey. “Come Fíli, or we will return with empty hands tonight,” he says curtly.

Fíli nods, understanding that this conversation has come to an end. But he is grateful for Thorin’s honesty. And it makes him feel a little less awkward about his own frets. He still is unsure what to do next, but whatever he decides he knows that he at least has Thorin’s blessing.

They agree to hunt separately and to meet back at their ponies again mid-afternoon, giving themselves at least a couple of hours to return home before nightfall.

Fíli is pleased with his achievements for the day. He is not as good a hunter as his little brother – Kíli is a natural with the bow and already almost equals Thorin in his hunting skills – but nonetheless he has managed to shoot a couple of pheasants and a fat squirrel and he also found a bush with blackberries which he had carefully picked and wrapped in a cloth. Dís will be happy and he already looks forward to his mother’s blackberry pie. 

He is the first to return to their ponies and decides to sneak a handful of the sweet blackberries into his mouth before Thorin arrives. Just as he is strapping his prey onto the saddle he hears the snapping of twigs that indicates that his uncle is returning as well.

But when he looks over the bright smile that he had in readiness to tell Thorin about his successes quickly drops from his face. Thorin has returned empty handed and his features look haunted. _Orcs!_ is the first thought that enters the prince’s mind and he is worried that Thorin is injured. “Thorin!” he calls out, running forward, ready to draw his swords, “Thorin, are you alright?!”

“Kíli?” Thorin answers, looking so intensely at him that Fíli feels like he is looking straight into his soul and the blond comes to an abrupt halt. He shudders, but he tries to smile. Thorin is tired and this is not the first time he has mixed up their names. In fact when they were younger even Dís used to call them by each other’s names, driving him and his brother both crazy. “Fíli,” he says with a mocked sternness in his voice. “I am Fíli.”

But Thorin does not smile back. He walks up to Fíli until he stands right before him. Still he stares deep into his eyes, apparently unseeing even though his stare is so intense. “Kíli, why are you here?”

Fíli frowns. “Thorin,” he says, more serious this time. “I am Fíli. Not Kíli.”

“Why are you not at Lord Suthri’s court?”

Now Fíli is beginning to get frightened. What is going on? “Thorin!” he raises his voice, trying to call his uncle out of whatever this is. “Thorin, I am _not_ Kíli! Stop it, please, you are scaring me.”

Suddenly Thorin reaches out to him and brushes against his face. Before he has a chance to take in what is happening, Thorin pulls him in and bends himself forward to seek his lips.

Fíli jumps back in fright, pushing his uncle away. “Mahal, Thorin!!” he shouts out, swatting his hand away. “What do you think you are doing?!”

At that Thorin falls onto his knees, his eyes still glazed over. “Kíli, please!” he calls out. “Why do you push me away? I need you. You are my blessing!” Tears are streaming across his face and into his beard which has started to fill out more now he had stopped trimming it. “Please, Kíli! Amralizu!”

Fíli is in a complete panic, not knowing what to do. Clearly Thorin is unwell. Clearly he is seeing things, truly believing that Fíli is his brother. And he does not know how to snap him out of it. In the end he pulls his ale-skin from his belt and pulls the cork, splashing what liquid is left into Thorin’s face, biting his lip as he does so.

It seems to work. Thorin gasps and falls over onto his hands, drawing in a deep breath. And when his head snaps up and Fíli is relieved to see that some sense of recognition has returned to his grey blue eyes. “Fíli?” he whispers.

Fíli kneels down next to him, helping his uncle back onto his feet. “It is alright, uncle. You … you became unwell.”

Thorin looks at him, confused. “Th … thank you,” he stutters. He draws a hand over his face, frowning at the sticky wetness that clings to his hair. “Ale? What …?”

“I am sorry, Thorin,” Fíli says softly, guiding his uncle towards his pony. Does he not remember what happened at all? Should he tell him? “You … you were not responding to me. It was all I had …”

Thorin looks at him in confusion, but lets Fíli help him into the saddle. “Thank you, Fíli,” he croaks.

“I-I think we should go home now,” Fíli says with trembling voice. He is shaking now. The adrenaline that had rushed through him just now has left his body in a state of high alert and his heart is beating overtime. He tries to calm his breathing down as he unties his own pony and mounts her.

As they steer their ponies around to return home he keeps glancing over at Thorin who just looks bewildered and exhausted. He really does not appear to remember what he had said or done. And Fíli cannot bring himself to tell him, embarrassed and scared that his uncle and king is losing his mind.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mahdulyasthûne - my blessed husband  
> 'amad -mother  
> Zabadu Ablâkul Khazâd - Mighty Lord of the Dwarves  
> Kaminzabdûna - Earth Queen (Yavannah)  
> Khajmûna - Give-Lady  
> mahdulyusthê - my soulmate  
> Khagal’ân - Blue River (the Luhn)  
> Amralizu! - I love you!


	27. Wee prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any non-native speakers, "wee" means "little" as per its use in Scottish, which is what Balin and Dwalin's accents are based upon.

Fíli escorts his uncle to his chambers. Thorin is full of arguments that he is fine and does not want or need any fuss, but Fíli knows he is lying. His face is deathly pale now and although some clarity has returned to his eyes, his pupils are still widely dilated. “Thorin, he says sternly, “you are not well and you need to rest.” Before his uncle has a chance to protest, he has pulled the cord to call his attendants who promptly appear.

“The king is unwell.” Thorin growls softly at him, but Fíli ignores him as he instructs, “Please assist him to his bedstead and call Oín.”

Thorin swats the two attendants who are ready to help him out of his clothes away. “Iklifumun hû, Fíli, I am fine! I do not need to be put to bed like khazdith!”

The two dwarves look at Fíli, unsure who to obey.

Fíli motions for them to stand back as he steps up to his uncle. “Thorin,” he says kindly, but sternly. “You are _not_ fine. I will send your attendants away only if you at least let Oín check you over. Please, uncle? I am worried about you.”

Thorin stares hard at him but in the end nods. “Very well. Send Oín and then leave me,” he orders his servants who quickly scatter. Once they are gone, he turns to Fíli again. “Do not tell Dís. I do not want her to worry. She worries enough about Kíli.”

Fíli looks at him with concern but agrees. “I will not. But you must promise me you will look after yourself.” He turns to leave, but Thorin stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“What happened earlier, Fíli? I cannot remember. All I remember is aiming my bow at a young deer and the next I am on all fours covered in ale.” It would be funny if it was not for the circumstances and Fíli hesitates to answer. “Please tell me. What do I say to Oín if I do not know what happened myself?”

That is a fair comment and Fíli reluctantly turns back, although what he knows that what he is about to say cannot be repeated to the healer. “You though I was Kíli.” Thorin’s eyes grow wide as he stares at his heir. “You thought I was Kíli and you … you tried to kiss me.”

“Zabad Ablâkul …” Thorin gasps. “Fíli, I …”

Fíli shakes his head. “Don’t apologise. You are not well. You need to have some rest and you need Oín to check you over,” he states factually.

Thorin nods and sits himself down heavily. “I keep seeing him,” he says so quietly it is barely a whisper. “I see him everywhere. He is always on my mind, day and night. It is becoming ever harder to ignore.” He looks up at Fíli. “Am I losing my mind?”

Fíli sighs and although he really wants to leave, he takes a seat next to Thorin. “No, Thorin, you are just tired,” he says. It is a lie. He has had the same concerns himself. He knows – as everyone does – that a streak of madness runs through his family. And although it seems to have always been centred on gold and power, there is nothing to say that in the absence of both of those things the illness cannot turn to a different kind of desire. Nonetheless he adds, as much to reassure himself as Thorin, “You have had a lot on your mind and I know how hard the situation with Kíli has been for the both of you. You …”

He does not get a chance to finish his sentence as he is interrupted by a knock on the door. He motions for Thorin to remain seated as he gets up to answer the call. When he looks at Oín the older healer has a look of great concern across his brow, wondering why he has been called to the king’s chambers at this late hour. Fíli invites him in and looks over to Thorin who gives him a nod that he can handle this and that Fíli is free to go.

“Goodnight, uncle,” he says softly. “I hope you feel better in the morning.” And with that he closes the door behind him, leaving Thorin with his healer.

He walks straight over to Dwalin’s chambers, wanting to get there as soon as possible before he loses his nerve. Not that he has any intentions to woo the head of the royal guard – he has rather more pressing matters on his mind right now. But nonetheless he feels a bubble of anxiety in the pit of his stomach as he bangs hard on the thick oaken door.

“Fíli?” Dwalin asks in surprise when he opens the door to the young prince. The older dwarf is dressed in a simple shirt and his dark breeches held up by his braces. And Fíli muses that he looks a little less intimidating without all his usual attire and weaponry. “What brings ya here?”

“Thorin is unwell. May I come in?” Fíli remembers not to fumble over his words.

His elder raises a surprised eyebrow but motions him inside, “Aye, come in.” He points to a seat by the hearth. “Can I interest ya in a smoke?”

Fíli nods gratefully as he pulls out his own pipe and accepts the tobacco that Dwalin offers him.  The tattooed dwarf watches him light his pipe and take a draw before he sits himself down in the other chair. “Ye said Thorin’s unwell?” he furrows his brow.

Fíli nods again. He wonders why he has even come here, suddenly embarrassed and unsure what to say. But he needs to tell someone. And without being able to tell Dís and with Kíli faraway it does not leave many whom he can share this burden with. Dwalin is the only other dwarf he knows he can trust. “He is seeing things,” he says quietly, looking at the patterns of the fire.

“Things?”

“Well ehm … Kíli. He told me he sees him everywhere, day and night.”

Dwalin frowns, uncomprehending. “Kíli is with Suthri.”

“Kun, he is. Thorin is hallucinating it seems.” Fíli says, feeling an overwhelming sadness and worry as he thinks about how he had left Thorin tonight.

Dwalin draws in a sharp breath. He looks at Fíli who is flushed and stares at his feet now. “What happened?” he asks gently, understanding there is more to this story than what the crown prince has revealed so far.

“He …” Fíli takes a deep breath, before he looks up into Dwalin’s piercing eyes.  Momentarily he loses his trail of thought, swept away by the sky blue that sparkles in the light of the fire. And he swallows hard as he tries to get a grip on himself – why is Dwalin making him feel like this? No-one else has ever made him feel like this, freezing the words on his tongue. He clears his throat and starts again. “We went hunting together today. We split up in search of prey. When we met back at the meeting point he was not himself. He kept calling me Kíli. First I thought he just got our names mixed up again. But no matter what I said he seemed convinced I was him.” He looks away again, embarrassment fluttering through him once more. “Then he tried to kiss me.”

Dwalin coughs loudly next to him. “Ya harmu Mahal!” He looks over at the young prince who bows his head in shame. “Where is he now?”

“In his chambers. Oín is with him. He does not remember any of it.”

Dwalin gets to his feet and paces the room, whilst Fíli watches him.

“Are _you_ alright?” Dwalin suddenly asks, looking at him.

Fíli feels himself blush under the stare again, but he nods. “Fine. I know he did not mean to. He really thought I was Kíli.” Then he adds softly. “I am worried about him, Dwalin. I am worried about the madness …” _And not just for Thorin…_

To his surprise Dwalin walks up to him and kneels before him, taking his hands in his, enveloping them completely. “It’s just a tale, Fíli. Do not let anyone scare ya. The line of Durin is strong.”

“You don’t believe in the curse of our family?” Fíli asks softly, melting once more in those clear blue pools.

Dwalin resolutely shakes his head. “I’ve seen as many other dwarves lose their mind as I’ve seen Durins remain sane. Don’t let it become a self-fulfilling prophecy, wee prince.”

Fíli nods, thankful for the reassurance. Dwalin squeezes his hands softly, before he rises up again. As he stares into the hearth he sighs. “But I too am worried about Thorin. We’d all hoped Kíli’s assignment would be good for ‘m both. But it appears not.” He glances over at Fíli again. “Have ya heard from yer brother?”

“I have. He has sent me three letters. He seems to be doing fine but then it is hard to say. The letters are quite factual, as expected. He has talked a little about his duties and a lot about the differences in the culture and customs of the Farakân. But there is no mention of Thorin in any of them. Not once.”

“Which is sensible,” Dwalin observes. “When is Kíli due back?”

“After the next full moon.”

Dwalin nods. “Good.”

“Is it?” Fíli asks, getting to his feet also. “Nothing has changed. What will they do when he comes back? Nothing has been resolved.”

Dwalin puts his large hands on his shoulders, sending a little shiver down Fíli’s spine. “I will speak with Thorin. Do not worry about them, Fíli. It will be alright.”

Fíli looks into Dwalin’s eyes again, unconvinced but wishing nothing more than to believe the big warrior. “Akhmini astû,” he nods. Now that the original purpose of his visit has been dealt with, he is beginning to break out into a sweat under Dwalin’s intense stare.

“Is there anything else, wee prince?” Dwalin asks kindly and Fíli smiles back at the nickname that Dwalin has called him for as long as he can remember.

 _Kun! There is so much else I want to say to you, but I can’t! Why can’t I? I have never had this problem propositioning anyone before._ And so he reluctantly shakes his head.

“Then I wish ya goodnight.”

Fíli nods again and drags himself towards the door, kicking himself for not taking this opportunity to tell Dwalin what he really wants to say. He hovers for just a second, but then pulls open the door and steps outside.

As soon as he closes the door behind him, he leans heavily back against the wood, wishing just as much to yank it back open and fly into Dwalin’s arms. What is the matter with him? He has bedded so many dwarves and although many were closer his own age, why should this be any different? In fact surely it should be easier? He knows Dwalin well enough and Thorin has even given his blessing. Why then is he hesitating? Why are the words in his heart stalling on his lips?

He is about to walk off to his own chambers. But in a moment of madness he finds his courage and before he has a chance to change his mind he swings round and knocks hard on the door again. _Now or never!_

It takes Dwalin but a moment to answer and Fíli gives him only enough time to raise an eyebrow, before he pushes him backwards into the room, throwing the door closed behind them as he presses his lips hard against Dwalin’s.As he pulls back to catch his breath they stare at each other, a heavy tension bouncing awkwardly between them.

“Fíli?” Dwalin asks, shocked by what has just happened. “I … I don’t understand …”

Fíli can feel his cheeks burning fiercely and he cannot help his stutter this time as he tries to find the right words. “I … You … Sorry … I … I like you.”

Dwalin is speechless. Fíli? The handsome blond prince, Thorin’s oldest nephew, likes him? “Y’mean like … ?”

Fíli nods eagerly. “I would like to court you. That is … If you …”

Dwalin drags both his hands across his face and down the thick braids of his beard. This is rather unexpected. Flattering, but so out of the blue. Of course he likes Fíli too, he had already worked that one out. But he had also resigned himself that Fíli would be unlikely to return his affection and he had agreed with himself that it was probably for the best not to complicate the lives of the House of Durin further and to put it to the back of his mind. He sure had never thought that Fíli …

“You … you don’t like me that way …” Fíli tries to guess the answer when Dwalin wavers. His courage is beginning to fail him again and he thinks he may just have earned himself his first rejection. He eyes the door, wondering if he should just count his losses now and make a run for it.

As Dwalin reaches out for him, he flinches, in his state of high alert almost expecting the other to slap him. Instead the gentle brush across his face makes him look back up in surprise. “Y’re such a sweet laddie,” Dwalin says softly. “And I like you too…”

Fíli feels his heart bouncing in his chest as confusion threatens to suffocate him. So Dwalin does like him! But he also senses the hesitation there.

“But Thorin …”

“Thorin has given his blessing,” Fíli blurts out quickly. “I … I told him I liked you. Before he lost his mind that is. And he said you would make a great suitor and he very much approves.” He feels his blush deepen at that and his heart is bouncing energetically in his throat.

Dwalin looks back in surprise. And then a smile spreads across his face as he bends himself closer. “Ye assertive wee fox. Is that so?”

“Yes,” Fíli’s breath hitches, his cheeks positively on fire now as he can feel Dwalin’s breath on his face.

“In that case … I accept, wee prince,” and Dwalin allows their lips to come together again in a soft brushing. He wraps his arms around the slender blond prince and pulls him in closer, letting his warmth envelop them both. “I’m honoured to be yer choice,” he whispers into the thick blond hair, running his large hands over Fíli’s sleek form. In the back of his mind there is still a little reservation, a little doubt whether this is a sensible move. And he wonders why he hesitates. After all it is not like they are binding themselves. It’s just sex. He would not hesitate if Fíli had invited him to share any other pleasure with him, so why does this suddenly feel like such a big deal.

But before he can think it over too much, Fíli takes his hand and pulls him purposefully towards his bedstead.

“Fíli, is this real?” he whispers huskily.

The blond prince pushes the larger dwarf back onto the bed and smiles brightly. “Yes!” And he kisses the subject of his desire again, more urgently this time as he burrows his tongue between parched lips.

“I never thought …” Dwalin manages to utter between those passionate kisses, “Ya really like me?”

Fíli feels his cheeks flare again as the answer to that question surely is quite evident as they are pressed together. “I do. You are so strong and yet so kind.” He gently runs his fingers over Dwalin’s muscular forearms, tracing the battle tattoos painted there. “A mighty dwarf indeed. I … I have had many dreams about you,” he admits shyly.

Dwalin feels a shiver run through him. He still cannot quite believe this is happening. He too has had dreams about the young prince, but during the waking hours he had always been quick to suppress the memory, not deeming himself worthy and certainly not expecting Thorin to approve. He is far too old and hardly the handsome suitor that Fíli should be considering. But then again maybe he does have more to offer than the others that have been fortunate enough to have been courted by the crown prince so far – of which he knows there are many. He has proven his worthiness in battle and his loyalty to the House of Durin on many occasions. He is a decent craftsman and he sports a good beard.

“Y’re sure that Thorin …” he begins once more, but he is silenced as Fíli clamps his mouth down hard onto his and presses his tongue deep down his throat again. He surrenders to the warmth of this kiss as he closes his eyes and returns the play with his own tongue. He breathes in Fíli’s scent, so familiar and yet never this close before. And he finds himself heat up as he senses Fíli’s arousal press against him.

They become a wild tangle of arms and legs as they try to wrestle themselves and each other into a comfortable position and suddenly Dwalin gasps as the slender hand of his young lover slides between them to rub against his crotch. Momentarily primal lust takes over and his large hands roam greedily over the blond prince’s back, grinding up against him. The moment his fingertips feel heated skin under them Fíli moans softly in delight.

“Mmm Dwalin,” the prince whispers huskily as he nuzzles his lips against his elder’s neck, drinking in his odour – a combination of iron and smoke from the forge and his own deep masculine scent. It is prickling his senses wonderfully. He can feel the growing bulge under his playful touch and it sends his head spinning and sets his body on fire like never before. Slowly he pulls Dwalin’s shirt up so he can reach underneath, testing his fingers over the broad chest as if he is touching gold. He has never taken things this slowly before. Normally it takes him only a few minutes after the first kiss to have his lover naked underneath him and ready. But this feels so different. He thinks about his brother again, how Kíli had spoken about lying with Thorin like it was something magical. Sex was good and reaching that peak was even better, but it had felt like he could not quite relate to Kíli’s account of such events. First he had thought it was just his brother’s storytelling running wild, as it so often did. He had definitely inherited that skill from Thorin and could turn anything into the greatest adventure. But as he shivers in delight under the feeling of Dwalin’s calloused fingers roaming his skin, he wonders at what point a physical attraction to someone shifts into something more.

He frowns to himself. Dwarves do not link those two things together. They do not court as an expression of what other races call love. Sex is entertainment, relief and pleasure, as much as drinking ale and eating a hearty meal is. Something one does with friends. Only the very blessed find themselves experiencing that feeling that remains alien to so many. And he is arrogant to think that he deserves such a blessing or that he could be Dwalin’s.

“Fíli?” Dwalin asks softly as he can sense the distraction in his lover. “Are y’alright? Is this not nice for ya?”

Fíli pushes himself up a little and runs his hand over Dwalin’s cheek, cupping his face as he smiles. “So nice, u’zaghê.”

“Then what is wrong, wee prince?” Dwalin asks gently as he runs his fingers along Fíli’s neck and into his beautiful golden hair.

Fíli sighs and lowers his gaze. “It feels wrong. It feels wrong to want this. To have this with you, when Kíli …” He feels the sadness spread in his chest. Why does he feel like this now? He had not felt like this when he had taken other lovers into his bed. But somehow this feels different. Like there is more to it. “It is stupid, I know, and I am sorry that …”

Dwalin grabs his bottom lip, pulling playfully at it to stop him from talking. “It’s not stupid and don’t be sorry.” He releases the lip and softly swipes his thumb over it instead. “Ye’re so kind, so thoughtful. It is what makes ya so special. It is why I like ya. Never be sorry for caring for yer own.”

Fíli smiles, swimming in Dwalin’s bright blue eyes sparkling for him. “So then what is this? What is between us if not …” he trails off.

“Not sex?” Dwalin finishes the sentence, less abashed than the young prince.  “I dunno … Are ya happy to kiss?”

Fíli nods, grinning.

“Then we kiss. And we’ll just see what happens. I’m not seeing anyone else. Are _you_?”

Fíli blushes. It was only a few days ago his last lover had left his bed. “Not anymore.”

“Then if ya wish we can still court exclusively. It is yer call, wee prince.” He cocks his head, knowing that Fíli is the one whose bed is kept warm more than his own. Nowadays he tends to mainly take mates to his bed during the festivals, having lost that young spirited passion to actively go out to find a suitor – which like Fíli is normally his call.

“I could not ask that of you,” Fíli shakes his head.

“Ye’re not asking, I’m offering it ya. I can wait until Zannu Abkân if need be, sweet prince. And if I’m honest, I’m glad for yer decision. So I can speak to Thorin first. It does feel wrong to do this whilst he has fallen ill over Kíli.” He pulls Fíli in closer. “Ye’re welcome to stay the night though. Nothing needs to happen. That’s if ya wish to ...”

Fíli smiles, snuggling deeper into Dwalin’s warm embrace. “I would like that very much. Thank you for being so understanding.”

***

“You should sleep now, Thorin.” Oín puts his ointments and tonics back into his bag. He had given Thorin a sedative, something to help him nod off. There was nothing else he could give his king, there was nothing else that he had found wrong with him other than a lack of sleep. In any case Thorin had been rather vague about what ailed him and why Fíli had called him to his chambers at this late hour. He had just said that he had been sleeping poorly and was feeling worn down and that he suffered these headaches and occasions where it felt he had lost some time, some memory. “You will feel better after a good night sleep.”

Thorin nods. He had taken the draught reluctantly, a little wary of Oín’s potions, especially something that would knock him out cold. But he could see too that he needed to get some rest. His reflection looked haunted these days. He could not permit for his mind so drift off like that whilst he needed to make sound decisions.

“Oín …” he begins and the medic turns back, but he waves the question that was on his lips away. “Thank you. Zann galikh.”

“Zann galikh, uzbadê,” Oín nods and he leaves the king’s chambers. 

Thorin sighs deeply as he rests himself back against the pillows. He had wanted to ask Oín about his grandfather. He knows the old healer used to be Thrór's healer also. _Do you think I am losing my mind? Is this what happened to my grandfather?_ he had wanted to ask. But he is too proud. And he’s too afraid of what the answer might be. And so he closes his eyes as he finally lets a deep dreamless sleep take hold of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iklifumun hû! - Damn it!  
> khazdith - a dwarfling  
> Zabad Ablâkul - Mighty Lord  
> Ya harmu Mahal! - by the grace of Mahal!  
> Kun - Yes  
> Akhmini astû - Thank you. Although Fili ranks higher than Dwalin, it would not be that odd for him to use the formal address of astû in view of the big age difference between them and his reference of Dwalin. To use a less formal form would imply a familiarity that he is not yet ready to express.  
> u’zaghê - my warrior  
> Zann galikh, uzbadê - Good night, my king.


	28. Heart and Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for 1000 hits! Thank you new readers and re-readers. 
> 
> Thank you to those of you leaving kudos and comments, they make my day! 
> 
> And thank you of course, my very own princess Dis, for beta reading!

“Dwalin,” Thorin nods towards his guard and friend as the other closes the door behind him, but returns his gaze to his papers again. He sees Dwalin walk up to his desk in his peripheral vision and then hears him clear his throat to get his attention. “Kun?” he asks, still not looking up as he continues to scribble notes down.

“How are ya?”

Thorin sighs, as he still his quiver for a moment. “I am fine.” Is everyone going to ask him every second of the day how he is doing now? Slowly he looks up, trying to suppress his annoyance. “I take it Fíli spoke to you?”

Dwalin nods slowly. “He did.” He shuffles slightly. “That’s why’m here.”

“I gathered,” Thorin groans, shoving his paperwork away. “I am fine, Dwalin. I told Oín I have had a few blackouts. He agreed with me that nothing appears to ail me and that I am just tired. I have a lot on my mind at the moment. He gave me a draught to help me sleep.”

Dwalin nods. “That’s good.” He takes a breath. “That is not why I’m here though.”

“Oh?” Thorin looks closer at his friend now. And slowly it dawns on him what the other reason could be for his friend’s visit. The other thing Fíli was going to talk to him about … He suppresses a smirk. “Then what? I have not got all day, Dwalin,” he snarls, deciding to enjoy this bit of entertainment.

Dwalin narrows his eyes. “Fíli told me he wants to court me,” he states, not one to talk around the subject.

Thorin raises an eyebrow as if this is news to him. “Court you?”

“Aye.”

“And you said what?”

“I accepted.”

“I see,” Thorin lowers his voice to a more menacing tone. “You did not think it would be appropriate to run that by me first? Since he is my heir?”

Dwalin shifts a little uncomfortably. It is not a requirement – Fíli is of age and he had been the one to proposition him as per the appropriate protocol. But since he is Thorin’s best friend and Fíli is Thorin’s nephew it is only courteous. “Aye, I did. Which is why’m here.”

“To ask for my permission after you have already accepted his proposal?” Thorin makes his friend sweat just a little more.

Dwalin clears his throat. “Fíli said y’ve already given yer blessing…”

Thorin narrows his eyes. “Did he now? And you believed him? Have you not heard of his reputation? Did you not think the lad would say such a thing just to get his hand down your breeches?”

Dwalin feels the hair on the back of his neck prick up as he flares. “I do not, Thorin. And do not speak of him like that!” he raises his voice much to Thorin’s surprise. “Y’have no idea! Fíli is not like that, he …”

Thorin cannot keep a straight face anymore and a smile breaks across his lips, stopping Dwalin’s rant dead. “Now there is a dwarf who is worthy of my heir’s courtship,” he grins.

“Ye what?” Dwalin breathes heavily, his fists still balled in outrage.

“I think you just passed the test. And in any case, I did give my blessing to Fíli.”

Dwalin snorts loudly, “You orc!”

Thorin laughs. “Come my friend, where is your sense of humour?” He smiles warmly at his best friend. “So you like him too. You have accepted his proposition,” he states. He leans back in his chair and grins cheekily. “Have you fucked him yet?”he repeats the crude question that Dwalin had posed him many months ago when he had found out about him and Kíli. He expects a grinned acknowledgement but to his surprise Dwalin splutters, blushing fiercely.

“I have not.” Then Dwalin smirks at Thorin, remembering their previous conversation also. “Not yet.” And they both laugh out loud.

Thorin gets up and walks around his desk, placing both hands on Dwalin’s shoulders. “You _do_ have my blessing, my friend. Fíli is a lovely lad. I was surprised when he told me he wished to court you. But I cannot think of a better lover for my sister-son than my best friend. Fíli has made a good choice.” Then he cocks his head. “It is none of my business, but why have you not …?” He knows full well that, aside from his own fumblingly inexperienced courtship with Kíli, that is after all the whole point of courtship. But when Dwalin avoids his gaze Thorin knows instinctively what the answer to that question is. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps. “My problems are my problems. I do not expect you or Fíli to withhold for my sake.”

“Fíli did not want to for Kíli’s sake,” Dwalin retorts. “But to be honest, Thorin, I did not mind. He stayed in my bed, if ye must know. He slept in my arms and it was nice just to hold him.” There is the briefest shift in Thorin’s gaze and although he immediately returns to a smile Dwalin knows he has hit a nerve. “Thorin, I am sorry,” he begins, “that was thoughtless of me.”

But Thorin waves a hand at him, “I will hear no more of your apologies. You are entitled to your happiness. You have my blessing to honour the obligations of your courtship.”

“And if I wish to take my time over this courtship?”

Thorin raises an eyebrow and glances in the bright eyes of his old friend, seeing something much more than the usual desire that accompanies the taking of a lover. “This is not a one off?”

Dwalin considers this, although deep down he already knows the answer. “Not for me.”

Thorin nods slowly. It is not uncommon for older dwarves who court outside the festivals to take a longer term partner, rather than just have a one-night-stand.  It is not an official commitment and usually it is not even a commitment between the courting partners. They may just agree to remain in courtship for as long as it is pleasurable for both. And oft even those agreements are not exclusive. “As long as you are both happy, I am too.”

Thorin is about to turn round, but Dwalin grabs his arms. “And you and Kíli?”

“What about it?” Thorin narrows his eyes again.

“Are you happy?”

Thorin stares at his friend.  “He is safe.”

“That is not what I asked, Thorin.”

Thorin’s eyes grow dark. “What do you want me to say?” he growls at his friend.

“The truth. Are ye two happy?”

He can feel the anger flaming inside him. Is it not obvious? Why is Dwalin digging at his heart like this? “Of course we are not!” he spits. “Why are you even asking me this?!”

“Because I want ya to be happy,” Dwalin says calmly. “Now tell me what we need to do to make that happen.”

Thorin sighs. “There is nothing we can do. You know that as well as I do.”

“Nonsense, Thorin, y’ have never been one to give up on yer dreams that easily.” He grabs hold of Thorin’s forearms and forces him to look at him. “When everyone told ya to give up on Azsâlul'abad, ye never listened to them. Ye stuck with yer dream and ye would have found a way in the end. But ye sacrificed that for the good of yer people.” His bright eyes pierce deep into Thorin’s. “Now will ye sacrifice yer happiness also? And Kíli’s? How much more will ye give Thorin, until there is nothing left to give and ye’ll be but an empty shell?”

“It is my duty to serve my people. And Mahal,” Thorin retorts.

“Ye told me yerself that Kíli is yer blessing. Now if ye truly believe that, Thorin, it is also yer duty to honour the obligations of your courtship.”

“And how do I do that without breaking our laws?”

“Ye can’t. Ye just have to decide what really is important. Which ye believe in more, Durin’s laws or Mahal’s gift? Ye cannot please everyone. So ye must make a choice whether to follow yer heart and dreams or whether to live a life of regret of what could’ve been.” He cups Thorin’s face, pulling him closer. “But no matter what ye choose, I’m always here for ya. No matter what, kharm.”

Thorin smiles a sad smile. “Thank you.” And he lets Dwalin pull him close. As they embrace he allows himself to momentarily lower his defences and as he leans into the strong arms of his dearest friend he feels all the anxiety and desperation flow away on a few stray tears, which quickly soak away into Dwalin’s thick tunic.

***

“Be seated,” Thorin nods to the members of The Council. Now that the different clans in Khagal’abbad have come together under Thorin’s crown, there are representatives from the Fantnuhûb and 'Urstarâg seated around the table also and as he scans the room he sighs in the knowledge that meetings will take even longer to reach a conclusion now, having to consider even more opinions and cultural influences.

This also is Fíli’s first council meeting to attend as an observer. He quickly exchanges a glance with the blond prince and gives him a nod of encouragement as he takes his own seat at the head of the table, before signing to Balin that he can open the meeting. He regrets that the young prince does not look as excited as he probably would have otherwise. Instead his eyes are full of concern when they meet Thorin’s and his elder wonders what he could offer his nephew as an apology for his inappropriate actions that would put Fíli’s mind to rest and reassure him that after a good night sleep he really is fine.

The meeting agenda follows pretty much the same pattern as always. There is the overview of the state of the treasuries from Gloín – which are looking pretty good – and Dís updates the king on any urgent issues in the dam’s community – of which there are fortunately few as always since his sister and her advisors do an excellent job. Then Daín’s and Suthri’s representatives give their respective updates on any issues back home, an update on the financials of the other factions and a brief overview of the defences, which Thorin is pleased to hear have been reinforced under Kíli’s instruction. And finally the Broadbeams and Firebeards give a very brief update of any matters that concern Thorin now that they have sworn fealty to the king.

The next item as standard is about the upcoming festivals of which there are many in the dwarrow calendar. The last official fest was the Spring Fest which had been combined with Thorin’s coronation. Normally the next one in the calendar would be Gargbuzrâmrâg, which had very much started as a local tradition in Khagal’abbad, although these days many Clans celebrated the Harnkegger Fest. But because the coronation had been such a grand affair, the Council had decreed that the Deep Ale Fest would be delayed and combined with the Midsummer Fest of Good Health.

Thorin listens only half-heartedly to Gorm rattle off the usual preparations. He wonders why they need to go through this in detail every feast again when all seated around the table are old enough to have been through at least half a century or so of these in Khagal’abbad alone. Any of them could recite the prayers by heart. And as he switches off from the monotone voice of the Kehnar he feels that odd feeling creep up on him again.

Previously it had come on so suddenly he had barely had time to recognise it before he had already sunk deep into his darkness. But this time it is almost like he is watching himself slip away from reality and into that strange dreamworld that is like a living nightmare. The dwarves around him seem to be morphing into something almost translucent, as if he would put his hand straight through them if he reached out – and it takes all his self-control not to do so just to check if his perception is real or not. Although Gorm is the only one talking, the sound feels so amplified in his suddenly oversensitive ears that it is like everyone is shouting around him. He cannot help himself as he presses his hands against his ears and closes his eyes. And as he battles hard with his own mind somewhere deep down a voice is screaming at him to get up and get out. _Kíli._ It is becoming a mantra. A prayer for his sanity. _Kíli. KILI. KILI!!_  

The room around him starts to spin and he knows he is swaying although he is not sure if it his him moving or the room around him. Every muscle in his body is taut as a bowstring now and they are starting to twitch under the strain. And he is sure he will lose the last bit of control at any moment and slide into oblivion again, fearing for what he might say or do in his psychosis.

A hand on his arm makes him jolt and gasp.

“Now, Thorin …” slowly the deep voice of the Kehnar rings through the mist of his delusion, “… there is another matter we need to discuss.”

He opens his eyes and is relieved to find the room is no longer moving and his council members are tangible once more. Balin is throwing him a slight concerned look, as is Fíli, but none of the others do not even appear to have noticed his momentary loss of function and therefore he thinks it must have been much briefer than it had felt to him. He tries to focus his vision on the Kehnar once more, throwing him a forced smile of faked interest.

But what the Kehnar says to him knocks the wind from his lungs. “Have you chosen the dam that will be carrying your heir yet? It would be good if you would announce your choice at the Feast.”

The gasps around the table are audible and heads flick between the King and the Highpriest as the tension hangs heavy in the air.

“Excuse me?” Thorin manages to utter, although his throat feels dry as sandstone.

“If you have not yet made your choice, then of course the Godord will be happy to make a recommendation. With Mahal’s blessing …”

“Fíli is my heir.” Thorin states coolly. Heads flick between Thorin and Fíli, who has gone very pale. “Dís’ eldest son is my heir.”

“Of course, should anything – and Mahal forbid – happen to you prematurely then the young prince inherits the title. But our people expect …”

“You do not speak for my people,” Thorin growls low in this throat, his eyes flaming at the priest, despite his outward attempt at control.

Gorm narrows his eyes also, not happy to be challenged in front of the council members. “I speak on behalf of Zabadmâ. The line of Durin needs to flow from the seed of the king. You are expected to produce an heir in His honour,” he states firmly, holding Thorin’s gaze.

Suddenly Thorin rises to his feet. The movement is so swift that the others are taken by complete surprise as he storms across the room. “You lecherous rat!” he shouts, pointing his finger accusingly at the Kehnar.  “You do not speak for Mahal. You only speak for yourself and your sister who you wish to see in my bed!”Before anyone has a chance to react, he grabs Gorm by his robes and drags him to his feet. “I will not spill my seed between her thighs just so that you have a blood-link into the royal line, you power-mad son-of-a….”

“Thorin!” Dwalin has managed to get to his feet and drags the king away from Gorm, onto the floor. As he pins him onto his back he growls softly in his ear. “Thorin, pull yourself together!”

“Ubjab!” Gorm has found his voice now and is pointing a trembling finger at the king. Suthri’s representative quickly comes to the aid of the assaulted priest, who theatrically collapses back into his seat.

“Get him out of here!” Thorin bellows at the top of his voice.

The long-bearded Farakûn and Balin take it upon themselves to guide the Kehnar towards the door. But just as they are about to exit the room Thorin’s sickness returns with a vengeance. The stress is too much for his already tensed body to cope with and as he tries to fight himself loose from under Dwalin’s strong grip his brain shuts down completely.

The council members around him stare helplessly at the thrashing form of their leader as Dís kneels by his side. “Give him room!” the princess sternly orders the others to step away. She yanks off her outer skirt and folds it into a makeshift pillow. Gently she lifts her brother’s jolting head as his eyes roll back and she places it on the softer cloth to protect him from further injury as he continues to thrash violently.

Dwalin has fallen backwards and stares at Thorin with eyes wide as dishes, completely frozen to the spot.

Fíli rushes to their side, looking to his mother for guidance. Fear grips his heart as he watches Thorin slip away from them completely. “What’s happening to him?!” he whispers agitatedly. _Is he dying?!_ He cannot even say that last bit out loud.

“Out, everyone!” Balin shouts as he firmly pushes Gorm and the other dwarf out of the door now. No-one needs to see this. And he motions for all the others to leave the room until only Dwalin, Dís and Fíli remain seated on either side of their king.

As the commotion in the room fades away and all that is left is the princess whispering soothing words to her brother, Thorin’s body slowly starts to relax. “There,” she strokes her brother’s damp forehead, brushing the wet strands of hair out of his face. “It is alright, brother, everything will be alright.”

She turns to her son who is shaking himself. “Fíli, please find Oín and bring him to Thorin’s chambers.” She brushes her son’s cheek softly. “He will be alright,” he soothes him too. “Go now.”

Fíli nods and jumps to his feet, rushing towards the healer’s room for the second time in less than a day.

As soon as he is gone Dís reaches out to Dwalin, who too looks deathly pale. “Will you carry him?”

Dwalin nods. Thorin has stopped thrashing about completely now and his eyes have closed, but his eyelids are still fluttering. He looks to Dís for answers. He has never seen anything like this before and he is scared to death for his friend. “What is wrong with him?” he whispers.

“He will be alright,” Dís says again as she places a gentle kiss on her brother’s forehead. “He needs to rest, but he will be alright.” She has no more answers than that right now either. And although Oín is Thorin’s personal physician, she may just consult one of her own healers on what ails her brother. Right now they need to get him to his rooms and then she will need to find Balin to consult him on how they will handle Gorm.

***

“Fíli? What’s the matter?” Oín asks as he finds the blond prince shaking and white as a sheet outside his door.

“Th-Thorin he … he … Please come … He’s ill. You need to come now!” Fíli frantically pulls at the healer’s sleeve.

“Alright, let me get my bag, lad. And you tell me what’s happened.”

By the time they reach Thorin’s chambers, the king has started to come round. Now he is staring bewildered at his sister, his best friend, his nephew and his physician all gathered around his bedstead as if he is on his deathbed.

“W-what is going on?” he utters in a whisper.  “Dís?”

“It is alright, margith,” Dís smiles reassuringly as she takes her brother’s hand and rubs the back of it.

“Clearly it is not,” Thorin sighs in frustration that yet again he finds himself in an embarrassing position without having any recollection how he ended up here. “Why am I in bed in the middle of the day? Why are you all here?”

“You became unwell,” Fíli says, hovering unsurely at the end of the bed. “At the council meeting. You were angry with …”

“Gorm,” Thorin finishes his sentence with a snap. Some of what had happened returns to his mind now and his features cloud over like a thunderstorm as that slightly unfocused gaze returns to his eyes.

“Sssh, brother, you need to rest,” Dís tries as she can see the anxiety return, but it is futile.

“How dare he!” Thorin growls, trying to wrestle himself upright. “How dare he suggest that I bed his sister!”

“I don’t believe he actually suggested that, nadad,” Dís squeezes his hand as she throws Dwalin a furtive glance. They both know as much as Thorin does that that is probably what the priest had implied with his so-called helpful advice, but he had never said it. Gorm was far too clever to utter such brazen insult openly. “ _You_ said that,” she says softly.

“I will never betray him!” Thorin cries out suddenly.

“Thorin, you should not ….” “Thorin, please …” both Dwalin and Dís try to stop him simultaneously as they throw each other a panicked look.

“I have had to send him away! I have had to deny my love for him. But I will never break my oath to Kíli, my One! I will never lie with another for as long as Mahal keeps me alive!!” he bellows.

Oín might be slowly getting deafer as the years pass by, but he has not missed Thorin’s loud venting of his anger and he is staring wide-eyed at his king.

Dís gets to her feet and walks over to her brother’s healer, grabbing him by the arm and guiding him to a corner of the room, whilst Dwalin tries to calm his friend down. “Listen,” she says quietly to the dumbstruck buck with as much authority as she can muster, “my brother is not well. He speaks without thinking and it is putting himself and my son in danger. I must remind you of your duty as his personal physician. That whatever he says, whatever you hear, must never leave this room. Swear it to me.” She has the older dwarf in a strong grip by both his shoulders, staring intensely at him. “Swear it, Oín!”

“I - I swear …”

Dís nods to him and is about to turn back to her brother, but Oín stops her. “Zabdûna,” he begins carefully. “Does … Did … What Thorin said …”

Dís looks at him, considering whether it is better to lie or risk telling the truth. But perhaps if he knows the full story, he can help her brother, help whatever ails him. “You must never tell another soul,” she urges him again. “Swear by Mahal!”

“I swear,Zabdûna,” Oín says again, more confidently this time.

Dís takes a deep breath. “My son is the King’s promised One. Mahdulyathûnhu.”

Oín does not say anything, just stares incredulously at her.

“Please look after my brother,” she says quietly in the end as she throws her pale, exhausted sibling a worried look.

Slowly Oín nods. “I will, Lady Dís,” he promises. “He is my king. I will do whatever is in my power.” At that he returns to his King’s side.

Dís throws her brother and his most loyal dwarves one last glance and leaves the room to find Balin and Gorm to try and mitigate some of the damage her brother has caused between the royal House of Durin and Mahal’s Kehnar.

***

She smirks as she takes in the picture of Gorm, lying on the divan in the guest room that one of her maiden’s had guided her to. The Kehnar looks like he has been attacked by a pack of wargs, his face white as a sheet, his long beard dishevelled as if he’s been dragged backwards through the woods, his eyes closed and his hands shaking. Sviór, Suthri’s ambassador, is pampering him with offerings of food and drink, which he whimperingly waves away.

Dís looks at Balin who has turned his back on the scene and rolls his eyes before he invites the princess to take a seat on the other side of the room where Balin takes place next to her.

“Gorm,” she begins, now being the highest ranking one here. “We need to talk about what happened at the Council meeting.”

“He attacked me!” Gorm whines dramatically. “He is mad! Ubjab!”

Dís exchanges a worried look with Balin. Gorm has every right to accuse Thorin of such a serious crime. But on her way here an idea had come to her which she hopes may protect her brother. “You are right, Gorm,” she says calmly. “My brother is under a lot of stress at the moment and he needs to rest. I apologise unreservedly for any offence caused, but as you say yourself Thorin is not in his right mind at the moment.”

Gorm narrows his eyes and manages to drag himself upright. “What are you implying?”

“That he cannot be held responsible for his actions today,” Balin confirms, understanding where Dís is heading.

Sviór looks at her like he is desperate to say something, but she knows the Farakân place a lot of importance on rank and she keeps him quiet with a stern look. They can hear Gorm grind his teeth in frustration as his brain is churning on how to respond to that. “You … you are going to let him get away with what he did to me?” the old dwarf spits furiously, his cheeks turning bright red in anger.

Dís sighs and she tries to throw the priesther most compassionate look. “I am sure he will apologise to you when he is better, Kehnar Akgrâgul. But no real harm has come to you so let us not blow this out of proportion. After all, you were wrong to bring such a delicate matter up in the Council meeting. You should have raised the proposal in private with him. You of course may make recommendations where Mahal asks this of you. But never forget that he is still your King and that you may not make such demands of him.”

“He is possessed!” Gorm hisses. He is sat up straight now, suddenly the physical effects of Thorin’s _attack_ overcome and replaced by anger over the injustice. “There is an evil inside him. The way he attacked me and then how he was thrashing about on the floor!” He jumps to his feet now, pointing his finger at Dís and then Balin. “He should not be allowed to be King! He will doom us all!”

Balin and Dís exchange a glance. This is getting very out of hand.

Baling slowly gets up. “That is a serious accusation, Gorm. Are you saying you are challenging Thorin’s ability to rule?” Gorm may be the Highpriest which in a lot of cases places him above their common law. But even Gorm is not exempt from their sedition laws. And these claims, these insults may be considered a direct act of treason. A crime that carries the death penalty. And Gorm appears to have realised his mistake as he has gone deathly pale and slumps back down onto the sofa. “Are you making this an official statement?” Balin narrows his eyes at the Kehnar. “Or should we assume that this conversation never took place. Just as what happened in the Council meeting today never took place?”

This time when Sviór makes attempt to stand up for the Kehnar, Gorm is the one to silence him with a simple gesture of his hand. “Perhaps we all forgot the appropriate conduct for a moment,” he swallows thickly. “As you say, emotions have run high today.”

“Indeed,” Balin nods solemnly. “I think it were best if we all forgot those words which were spoken in anger today.”

“Very well,” Gorm nods through gritted teeth at which he drags himself up once more and pushes past Balin as he storms out of the room, followed hot on his heels by his loyal supporter from the Southern faction.

Once the door has fallen shut behind them, both Balin and Dís take a deep breath.

“Akhminrukizu,” Dís says softly.

Balin waves a hand. “We have some serious problems on our hands, Dís. This tension between the House of Durin and the Godord … We may have averted this escalating today, but there is something brewing. Something very bad indeed.”

Dís nods. “There is.” She considers her brother’s chief advisor for a moment. “How does the buck community perceive his rule? Are they behind him?”

“Kun. The dams?”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise. As is Daín. What about the other clans? Do you think they will side with Thorin even if Gorm questions his rule?”

“Hm …” Balin thinks about this carefully. “The Broadbeams have always been loyal to Thrór and Durin’s line. But the Firebeards … they are close to Suthri’s court …” He looks up at Dís. “Which leaves Suthri …” he says what they are both thinking.

“What have Kíli’s reports said? Anything that causes you concern?”

Balin shakes his head. “He has been trained well enough in political savviness not to put to paper anything that could cause upset should it fall in the wrong hands. His reports have been factual and objective.” He takes a deep breath and takes his seat next to Dís again. “Tell me honestly, Dís, do you believe Kíli is mahdulyusth-hu?”

“Yes,” Dís says quietly but confidently. “When I first learnt about their relationship I was furious with Thorin. But having spoken at length with the both of them … Neither would risk what Thorin has achieved here if they were not driven to it by a stronger force. My brother is stubborn but he is not stupid. And he is absolutely devoted to Kíli. I do believe this is Mahal’s wish. I believe,” she says sincerely, “that it was foretold when I brought him into this world.”

Balin sighs deeply. Perhaps he had been hasty to judge his old friend. He had not believed him, had thought he was simply lusting over that which he could not have. But then the implications of the alternative were far reaching. Why would Mahal bless Thorin with something that contravened His own laws? Were those laws flawed? Who was right and who was wrong?

And there is Thorin’s current state of mind. What had happened with Gorm was one thing – the dwarf pushed everyone’s buttons and Thorin had a short fuse at the best of times so the fact that their relationship was volatile was hardly surprising. But what he had witnessed thereafter had drained the blood from his face. Thorin seemed to be no longer in control of his own body. Like another force had crept into his limbs to move them at their will. “What happened earlier?” he asks, his voice shaking slightly. “When he fell to the floor? Do you think he is … losing his mind?” It sounds only marginally less insulting than _is he possessed_.

“I don’t know,” Dís sighs, lowering her gaze to her hands. “I do worry … I have seen the madness take hold of my grandfather and then my father.” She looks up at her childhood friend. The thought of it is frightening her more than anything. A curse that does not seem to spare any generation of her line and therefore may also take hold of herself and her children one day. “Is there any way they could be together? Is there any way we could change the law?” she decides to change the subject.

“Oh Dís, you know we cannot,” Balin says regretfully. “Our laws date back to Father Durin. It is not for us to change them, only to interpret them.” His heart breaks at the sight of Dís’ anguished face and he gently takes her hand. “Do not get your hopes up, but I will look into it, Dís. I will see if there is anything that we could do. Anything at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kharm - brother (as in kinsman, Clan brother)  
> Zabadmâ - Our Lord  
> Ubjab - Heretic. One who challenges the doctrines of an established religion. Lit. chooser, which is where the English word heretic also originates from. A serious crime amongst the dwarves.  
> Farakûn - dwarf from the southern blue mountains (single of Farakân)  
> margith - bear cub  
> Zabdûna - lady  
> Mahdulyathûnhu - his blessed husband  
> Akgrâgul - Honourable  
> Akhminrukizu - Thank you wholeheartedly  
> mahdulyusth-hu - his soulmate


	29. Mithlond

“With all due respect, prince Kíli, but we have not had a breach of our defences since before you were born,” Lord Suthri says.

Although the tone is polite, the words and the undertone are clear enough. Kíli can feel his cheeks turning red, as they always do when he feels challenged. He is fed up with all of this. He had spent over two months trying to do what Thorin had assigned to him – to learn about the Southern Faction and make recommendations to strengthen their defences with the authority to make further recommendations for any other improvements he could identify. But at every point he had come up against Suthri and his council thwarting anything he tried to do. They had implemented some minor improvements, but Kíli was no fool and he could see it was only the minimum in order for Suthri not to look like he was openly defying the prince of Durin, so that he could report back to Thorin and say that hehad been cooperative. But it was hardly worth his effort. And No matter what the young prince said or did, he knew that Suthri and his court continued to look upon him as but a child rather than a strategic leader and the most senior in rank. And he feels utterly miserable because of it.

Vrar had noticed it too and to be fair to the older dwarf he had done his best to aid Kíli in his tasks, complimenting his observations and supporting his recommendations. But he ranked too far below Lord Suthri and his council to have any influence.

Kíli takes a deep breath, willing the angry blush to subside – which of course only makes it worse and he knows Suthri can see it too. Slowly he raises his eyes to meet those of the Southern Lord. “That may be so. But there have been no orc attacks in this region since our people settled in Khagal’abbad. Now that reports of such a threat are becoming more serious, I think you should heed my recommendations.”

Lord Suthri considers the dark-haired prince and then bends himself towards Hórth, whispering a quiet exchange after which both return their gaze to him with what Kíli can only interpret as an undermining smile. “Thank you, Zabad Kíli, for your recommendation. The council shall duly consider it,” Hórth replies.

Kíli does not realise he is digging his nails into his palms at the insult until Vrar actually retorts, “I think that would be very wise.”

Lord Suthri and Hórth both look like they want to make a comment about Vrar not having a voice at the council meeting, however, they are both well aware that Hórth had responded to Kíli’s recommendation rather than Lord Suthri himself. It had implied enough of a disregard for the prince’s title to put them in no position to make any such comment. 

The remainder of the meeting is laced with awkward tension and Kíli wants to run out of the door as soon as Hórth closes the council meeting when no other business is raised.

As soon as they are out of hearing distance, he turns to Vrar who looks suitably embarrassed and uncomfortable at the way the prince has been treated today and thus far. He opens his mouth to apologise to the brunet prince, but Kíli interrupts him before he has a chance to speak. “We are leaving,” he states. “I have had enough of this. I have done what Thorin asked me to do. I have learnt what I can about these dwarves and their odd customs. I have documented their defence strategy and their patrols and I have made my recommendations on how those can be improved. If Suthri does not want to listen to me then that is his problem. But I have had a guts full of being treated like khazdith!” he snarls.

Vrar does not disagree with Kíli but he is a little nervous about calling the assignment to an early finish. Nonetheless this is Kíli’s call. “I shall inform Hórth of your decision, Zabadê. And I shall inform our company to ready themselves for our imminent return to Thorin’s Halls.”

“No,” Kíli says with authority. “You can tell Hórth and you can send most of the company back to Thorin’s Halls. But you and Skírvir are accompanying me to Thafarsilafîn.”

Vrar splutters for a second, trying to find the right words so as not to insult his ranking Lord but equally needing to point out to Kíli that King Thorin will not be pleased for his nephew to go off on his own unauthorised adventure. _Especially_ not to an elvish town. “ZabadKíli, Uzbad Thorin …”

Kíli’s face clouds over the moment his uncle’s name is mentioned. “You obey _my_ orders, not _his_ ,”  he snaps at Vrar. “Now do as I say.” And turns on his heels and storms off.

Vrar is left staring at the prince’s back. Kíli has never snapped at him before, has never pulled rank on him before. He understands Kíli is angry at Lord Suthri and he thinks he has every right to.

But this unwise decision is sure to displease the King.

 ***

Kíli is sat cross legged on the window sill, penning his letter to Thorin which he will send ahead via a messenger. The company with all their entourage and their pack animals will take time to travel back north. But a lone messenger can take the quicker mountain path and they are trained to ride on without rest for up to twenty hours, which would enable them to reach Thorin’s Halls in just over three days.

So far he had sent Thorin his initial confirmation of his safe arrival and two full blown reports. He will include his final report with this letter. Before when he had written his letter to Thorin he had almost lost his wits in his anguish over his lost lover. That was when he had run out into the wild woods in search for an end to his misery, but Mahal has spared him. The vision of Ivanna offering him support is still fresh in his mind and he has pondered her foretelling over and over – without success. But the knowledge that Mahal and Ivanna are still watching over him has brought him much comfort and since that night he has spent every morning in the temple meditating.

Fíli had always told him he was odd to spend so much time in the Temple and offer rooms back home. That it did not seem to fit in with the rest of his character. And it was true, Kíli had no patience for anything that required him to sit still for longer than a few minutes; something that Balin would be happy to confirm. But this was different. He liked to talk to Mahal, it made him feel calm. It was like talking to Thorin in a way, listening to that deep voice that spoke with such calm authority. Zabadu Dehar had visited him in his dreams and meditations for as long as he could remember. Most of the time he did not speak, but just radiated a calm wisdom that encouraged Kíli to find his own truth in the world, in his heart. But sometimes, when Kíli felt at his most vulnerable, Zabadu Khazâd would remind him of his blessing and He would give him the strength to carry on. He never gave any advice. When Kíli had screamed at Him in frustration He had only smiled and told him that _only those who listen will hear and only those who look will see_ – which was no help whatsoever. And Kíli had resigned himself to the fact that he had to find his own answers. That such was the way of the Valar.

When he had written the next letter to Thorin he had felt much calmer. Having been separated from his lover for over two moon cycles by that point had given him the desired space he needed to separate his heart from his head for a while. Although by that time his frustration with Lord Suthri and his Council had started to really grain on him, he had also learnt to stand on his own two feet, to have an opinion without Thorin, Fíli and Dís all trying to advise him of theirs, and find his own way in the world. It was pretty clear to him that he was no statesman. He had neither the patience nor the tact to deal with the intricacies of politics. But that was fine – that had always been Fíli’s destiny and not his. However, he was growing in confidence over his skill as a strategic leader, seeing flaws and weaknesses in the way things were run in particular when it came to weapons and defensive tactics.

 _Screw Suthri,_ he thinks to himself. _If he wan_ _ts_ _to be overrun by an orc pack or a dragon because he is too stubborn to listen to me just because I am younger then fool be him!_

He is tapping the feathered pencil against the ink pot, thinking about how to tell Thorin he will not be home for Zudraibrizamrâg as promised. It is not that he does not want to go home. He misses Fíli badly. And of course he misses Thorin, although the overwhelming heartache he had felt before has now been replaced with a more resigned sadness. But from the moment he had travelled through the elvish harbour towns he had been drawn to it like a magnet. He _needs_ to go back there. He is not even sure why, but it is like the place is calling to him.

Of course he knows Thorin will be upset with him and the thought both agitates and pleases him. On the one hand he does not want to do anything that Thorin would disapprove of. On the other it is like an act of defiance that he is an adult and can make his own decisions now without Thorin deciding everything for him. He knows he is still answerable to his lover as his King, and that his decision technically could see him severely reprimanded and even demoted. But right now showing Thorin that he does not own him, that he cannot do with him as he pleases – with the one hand wanting him in his bed, and with the other shoving him aside - anymore, is well worth his wrath.

This is not about angering him though. He genuinely wants to see the elvish town and learn a little more about them. But of course there is also another, much stronger motive.

He looks at the carefully sealed scrolls in his backpack, the ones that Ori had scribed for him before he had left Thorin’s Halls. _It is said that some of the elves still know the old script._ He is never going to get another opportunity like this one. If he asked Thorin outright if he could go and spent some time with the elves, even if it is to find a way so that they could be together, he knows the answer will be _never in my lifetime!_

When he puts his quill down again he is not entirely happy with his letter, but it will have to do. He could write the entire letter in silver on gold leaf and it would not make Thorin any happier about the message he is giving him.

He is just about to seal the scrolls when he has a thought. He cannot tell Thorin anything other than the facts. Of course he cannot put any words of love into the report. But there is something that he knows will give Thorin a message that he still loves him, that despite everything he is still his soulmate. And he smiles as he carefully rolls the token of his affection inside the parchment before he seals the wax with the royal seal.

***

Kíli is relieved when they finally set off on their journey north.  He had said his polite farewells to Lord Suthri with the excuse that matters north required his urgent attention. No matter his dislike of the haughty lord, Thorin would not be pleased if he give him a piece of his true mind and started a civil war with the Farakân. Besides, other than Suthri’s Court, the others had been kind enough to him and his time here had not been that bad.

Vrar still looks unhappy with him, but Skírvir, whom he has spent a lot of time with over the past few months seems as excited as he is to leave the Southern Mountains and spend some time with the elves. His guard is only a few years older than Kíli is, but he is a bear of a dwarf, even taller than Thorin and almost as broad as Dwalin. And like his uncle’s guard the buck has an intimidating look but a kind heart. And Kíli feels safe with the strong dwarf as his shield.

When the company arrives in Thafarsilafîn and arrange for an overnight stop Vrar makes a final attempt to make Kíli see sense, trying to convince him to stay with the rest of the company and return to Northern Mountains, to report to Thorin on the mission and patiently receive new instructions from their king. He really does not feel comfortable at all with this plan and he can only imagine how Thorin will react – and what that will mean for him.

But Kíli refuses him kindly, but firmly. “I have made my decision,” he smiles as he orders a round for the company. “Tomorrow the others will travel on and we will seek audience with Highlord Nowë to ask for his blessing to stay in his city.”

“And if he does not grant his blessing?” Vrar asks nervously.

But Kíli laughs and answers, “Gajij zâjbilabi ya Thorin fanâd inbul-hibir fundhamâd-ublâg ahrâklâ.”

Vrar flushes at the insult, although he knows there is no chance that the elves in the tavern will understand their secret language. “Very well, Zabadê,” he sighs and takes his drink to the table where the others are seated.

Kíli leans against the bar and smiles as his company initiate an old dwarvish song.

“Do you think Nowë will let us stay?” Skírvir asks him, clinking his goblet against Kíli’s.

The prince shrugs. “I cannot see why not.”

“And what exactly do you intend to do here?”

“I don’t know,” Kíli smiles half-honestly. “The same as I was supposed to do in the Southern Mountains. Learn. Learn about the elves and their customs.” He smiles at his guard and friend. “Did you know that Nowë is said to be one of the oldest living beings in Middle Earth? He ruled the Teleri all the way back in the First Age. Did you know he was there during the battle with U’zan? Can you even imagine someone that old?!” he says excitedly.

Skírvir shakes his head. “How do you even know this? I cannot imagine Balin taught you elvish lore?”

Kíli laughs. “No he did not. My friend Ori taught me.”

“The scribe who works in the Temple Library?”

“That’s the one! He spends all of his days with his nose in books,” Kíli chuckles. “But he does know a lot of these things because of it. And he has taught me quite a lot about the other races in Middle Earth. Of course those are all from dwarvish sources ...” He does not need to add that that will mean they are heavily influenced by the prejudice that their race hold towards other inhabitants of Middle Earth, especially the elves. Instead he adds with a smile, “So it will be interesting to learn about these things first-hand, don’t you think?”

Skírvir smiles and shrugs. He has little interest in learning about the elvish culture or lore and he is not quite sure why his prince is so keen. However, he is most intrigued by the elvish weapons; their long curved swords and their powerful bows. Whatever Kíli’s reasons are for wishing to stay here – and he has an inkling it has as much to do with his curiosity as his stubbornness – he is sure he will get something out of this visit too.

Besides, it is a great opportunity to spend a bit more time together with the handsome prince. Although Kíli seems to have been oblivious so far to his subtle hints, he has hopes that with the rest of the company gone, Kíli might start to notice him more.

***

The palace of Lord Nowë is simple yet it absolutely takes Kíli’s breath away. Elegant pillars rise up endlessly towards a ceiling that could as easily be the sky itself so radiant. The marble floor changes from white to blue at every step taken, giving it the look and feel of waves rolling underneath his feet. Even the guards who line the entire hallway that leads towards the reception hall seem to effortlessly blend in with their surroundings and they could be marble statues if not for the occasional blinking of their deep brown eyes.

Vrar and Skírvir follow a few steps behind their lord, the short-statured advisor looking distinctly uncomfortable and the broad shouldered guard looking just as awestruck as Kíli is, if not a little more wary than Kíli as he keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Prince Kíli of the House of Durin,” the grand marshal announces their arrival to the elf lord as two enormous doors are opened leading them into the Great Hall of this elvish Lord.

Kíli slowly walks up to dais, a bright smile on his face. As he stops before the raised throne he moves his hand in the open gesture from his heart in the elvish greeting that he had learnt. “Le suilon, Hîr Círdan _,_ ” Kíli speaks the well-practised phrase in greeting. “My thanks for allowing me to seek audience with you.”

Kíli is momentarily speechless as he looks up into grey eyes that seem to reflect the history of the world in them. Despite his age, Nowë’s skin is as flawless as that of any other elfling in the room. Only the pure white of his hair and the ancient wisdom in his eyes allow a glimpse of his true age. But what really strikes Kíli is the long fine beard. Elves are not known to grow beards – something that clearly only comes with very old age indeed to their race – and he thinks it looks odd yet befitting of the prince-lord.

The ancient lord does not stir accept for a gentle smile that plays across his lips. “Mae l'ovannen, Cunn Kíli.Welcome to Mithlond. What brings the youngest prince of Durin to my court?”

“Hîr Círdan _,_ I seek but permission for me and my company to stay a while in your town. I would like to learn more about your customs and your history,” Kíli explains politely the reason for his visit.

The elf lord raises an eyebrow. “Hîr fangon, you are welcome to stay for as long as you wish. It has been some years since one from the Royal House of Durin stayed amongst us. You will always be welcome here, _Peredhel_.”

The statement throws Kíli and he looks over his shoulder for an explanation of the word that he does not recognise. But he had sent his translator back to Thorin’s Halls as he did not want to rely on someone else’s words and explanations.  Not now he knows that he can converse with the elves in the common tongue. But Vrar shrugs apologetically; it is not a word he is familiar with either.

“My thanks, Hîr Círdan. Excuse my impudence, but by-your-leave I request permission that I may also access your library whilst I am here. A friend in Ered Luin has told me much about the treasures that you hold.”

At that Lord Nowë smiles brightly, showing a row of brilliant white, strong teeth. “You are indeed remarkable, child of Aulë. You have my permission to use the library as much as you wish. On one condition. That you will join me for dinner tonight in my quarters. We have matters to discuss. Matters of great importance.”

Kíli blinks hard. _What matters?_ he wants to ask, but the look in the elf’s grey eyes tells him he is to be patience until he has private audience with the elflord.

“I would be most honoured,” Kíli nods his head.

***

The guest rooms inside the palace that they are escorted to are so brilliantly white that Kíli has to shield his eyes against the sun bouncing off the walls.

“Please ring the cord if there is anything you need, Cunn Kíli _,_ ”the elvish servant bows.

Once the door has fallen closed and he is alone Kíli falls down onto the soft bed. He feels rather pleased with himself for his decision to come here. Lord Nowë has been remarkably friendly and welcoming. In fact, a lot more so than Suthri he had been, he smirks to himself. Most importantly, however, he has been granted his wish to access to the old library. For the first time since his coming of age he feels strangely at peace. Almost at home. If only Fíli and Thorin were here things would just be perfect.

As he snoozes on top of the soft downs the thinks back to his brief but rather odd conversation with the elvish Lord. He wonders who of the House of Durin had stayed with Lord Nowë before. He could have just referred to Thorin passing through the town of course; he travelled back and forth between the Northern and Southern faction at least twice a year. But the last time he and Fíli had come here had been less than a year ago and that did not seem to fit the lord’s phrasing.

And what could the elflord possibly wish to discuss with him that was of _great importance_. He had not even known Kíli was coming here until the day before yesterday. Or had he? He almost seemed to have been expecting him.

As all these questions are churning through his head he starts to feels restless again and he jumps to his feet and grabs his bow and quiver. Just as he is about to leave there is a firm knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“Skírvir!”

He opens the door and looks into the bright smile of his guard. “That is good timing,” Kíli smiles back. “Will you join me to the archery range?”

***

They are thrown some funny looks when the two dwarves walk onto the practice range. It is noon and the sun is beaming down relentlessly onto the pitch, which at least means it is relatively quiet as most have been sensible enough to stay out of the blistering heat of the high sun. However as Kíli draws his bow and aims at his target, a crowd is quickly beginning to assemble.

He hits the target with ease, quickly followed by a further two sharp shots. By the fourth one of the elves steps forward out of the swollen crowd. “Your aim is precise, master dwarf,” he says in a heavily accented common tongue. “Would you like to try an elvish bow?” he asks, holding out said item to the dwarven prince.

Kíli eyes up the longer, curvier bow held out to him. He quickly glances at Skírvir who smiles in approval. “Le hannon,” Kíli nods as he takes the unfamiliar weapon. Despite being longer it feels much lighter in his hand than his own bow.

His first shot misses the target by a couple of inches as he gets used to the pull and the flexibility of the wood. His second hits the target on the edge. And by his third attempt he hits the centre ring dead on, to a joyous applause by his spectators.

He turns to the elf who had handed him the bow. “It is a beautiful weapon,” he smiles, holding it out again

“Please, master dwarf, it is a gift.” The elf bows his head politely.

Kíli frowns, not having expected that. “I could not possibly …”

“My name is Cúfaron,” the other offers Kíli the open elvish greeting, but refuses to take the bow back. “It means bow-hunter.”

“I am Kíli,” Kíli smiles. “It means …”

“I know,” the dark-haired elf smiles.

Kíli can feel Skírvir stir next to him but Kíli motions to him to let the elf speak and be patient. “How come?” he enquires. “I only came through Mithlond once before, some months ago, and we did not meet then.”

“Everyone here knows who you are, prince Kíli of Durin,” the elf says, seemingly a little surprised that the dwarf prince did not think they would know who he was. “You are Caehên. The Earth Child.”

Kíli looks at Skírvir who shrugs his shoulders incomprehensibly. “I see. Well, erhm … thank you.” He holds up the beautiful bow and nods his head to the taller elf.

Cúfaron nods back with a smile and turns to the others. To Kíli’s surprise they all leave the archery range as if by some command that Kíli has missed.

“Hu kasat duruj,” Kíli says to Skírvir. “Nice, but weird.”

“That’s elves for you I guess. May I?” Skírvir asks reaching for the bow.

“Yes of course,” Kíli hands the gifted weapon to his guard. “It is much lighter than our bows. But once you get used to the bending of the wood it fires little different to our own.”

Skírvir is not a natural archer, but he can shoot the bow as good as any other guardsman. However, he seems to struggle with the elvish weapon more than Kíli. “It is too light,” he growls in the end as he cannot get his aim right. “Give me an axe any day and we’ll see who is the better warrior here.”

Kíli laughs. “It is a gift, not an invitation to war. Now let’s go back before the sun burns us to ashes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul -  
> Zabadu Dehar - Lord of the Anvil  
> Zabadu Khazâd - Lord of the Dwarves  
> Zudraibrizamrâg - Midsummer Fest  
> Gajij zâjbilabi ya Thorin fanâd inbul-hibir fundhamâd-ublâg ahrâklâ - Then I will have to agree with Thorin that the elves are arrogant pointy-eared lembas-eaters. (Note that ahrâklâ is a rare plural adjective form. It is only used to explicitly indicate that "all" of the elves, i.e. every single one, are referred to here).  
> U'zan - The Destructor (Sauron)  
> Hu kasat duruj - That was odd.
> 
> Sindarin -  
> Le suilon, Hîr Círdan - I greet you, Lord Nowë  
> Mae l'ovannen, Cunn Kili = Well met, prince Kili  
> Hîr fangon = lord dwarf  
> Le hannon - I thank thee (note Le is the formal form. As Kili has learnt a few phrases as a foreign language he probably would have learnt the formal over the familiar form).   
> Caehên = earth-child


	30. Gifted

***** Thorin’s Halls, Khagal’abbad *****

When Dwalin arrives at his chambers he finds Fíli hovering in front of the door. “Good evening, wee prince,” he smiles happily at the sight of his suitor. “Ye can go inside, ye don’t need to hang around in the halls waiting for me.”

“I did not want to assume …” Fíli says softly as he follows him inside. He feels that now familiar and wonderful flutter of excitement as he watches Dwalin take off his overcoat. He is not even sure why he is here again tonight. They had more or less agreed not to do anything until Kíli came back. But he just wants to be around the older dwarf, be close to him. With everything going on – the heavy tension that has been hanging in the Halls for the last couple ofdays after Thorin and Gorm’s explosive argument – he needs some comfort from the dwarf who had agreed to court him.

“Have ye eaten yet?” the big guard calls over his shoulder.

“No, not yet,” Fíli shakes his head at which Dwalin promptly pulls the cord for his attendants and orders a meal for two to be brought to his rooms.

When Dwalin turns around Fíli is right behind him, making him jump.

“I missed you,” Fíli whispers and then crashes his lips against Dwalin’s. He has to stand on tiptoesto snog his lover and wraps his arms tight around his big neck.  The young prince closes his eyes as Dwalin pulls him into his strong arms and answers his kiss with passion and heat.

Other than the coarse hair of his bushy moustache prickling his lip, the kiss is surprisingly soft and Fíli swims in the warmth of it, the tender passion. When they reluctantly pull apart, knowing that at any moment their dinner will arrive, Dwalin rubs his rough thumb over Fíli’s soft lips and smiles. “I missed ya too, wee prince.” He cocks his head at his much younger lover, seeing the concern flicker behind blue eyes. “All y’all right?”

Fíli sighs and shakes his head. “Of course not.”

Dwalin sits himself in front of the fire and pats the seat next to him as he begins to stuff his pipe. “What’s up? Don’t keep it inside, ya can tell me.”

“Just …” Fíli takes a seat and pulls his own pipe out too. “I am worried about Thorin …”

“Why? Had summat else happened?” He puffs a little on his pipe to get the fire going and then looks closely at Fíli, but the prince shakes his head.

“No. He has been fine since the meeting. Well, as in he has not seemed to imagine things. Or have another episode …” He raises his eyes to Dwalin, feeling the great sadness and worry that he had tried so hard to suppress rise to the surface. _I will not cry! I am Thorin’s heir and I will not cry like a dam in front of Dwalin!_ he tells himself, but he feels his lip wobble a little and he turns his gaze to the fire.

Dwalin looks at the young prince and the sadness and concern he sees in him pains him greatly. He knows of course that Fíli is destined to follow in Thorin’s footsteps and the heir had been blessed to have enjoyed the carefree childhood that he and Thorin had not known. But nonetheless he wishes he could take his burdens away. He is not very good with touchy feely kind of things; is not the kind to normally offer a hug in comfort. But Fíli brings out a side of him he did not even know he had. And he reaches out and threads one of Fíli’s braids between his fingers. “All will be fine, wee prince. Let’s eat,” he smiles as there is a knock on the door.

Fíli had not realised quite how hungry he was until dinner is brought to them and his stomach rumbles loudly. They both tuck into the roasted meat and the jugs of ale, occasionally throwing each other a promising smile, which becomes brighter with the flow of ale. And the earlier thoughts of concern are slowly replaced by thoughts of want and desire.

When they have finished and Dwalin’s attendants have cleared away the trays, Fíli is quick to get to his feet and bolt the door behind them.

Dwalin raises a surprised eyebrow at his lover, an invitation to explain his intentions. But Fíli just gives him a cheeky smile, before he saunters back and lowers himself to his knees in front of Dwalin, whose eyes grow wide. He slowly runs his hands up the inside of the warrior’s thighs, teasing and testing his reaction. “Is this alright?” he asks huskily.

“Wee prince,” Dwalin whispers thickly, “ye should not kneel for me.”

“But I want to,” Fíli retorts quickly. And he begins to follow his hand with his mouth, placing gentle kisses along the inside of Dwalin’s legs, who spreads himself a little wider despite his words as his excitement grows. Fíli snuggles himself closer between those strong thighs and his kisses land on the fabric covering his lover’s arousal.

Dwalin throws his head back as his breathing deepens and his heart rate accelerates. He draws in a long slow breath as he digs his large hands behind the braids in Fíli’s hair, relishing the soft curly flows of golden hair between his fingers.

Fíli can smell the heat pulsing from Dwalin’s intimacy as he snuggles his face into the folds of his crotch. His lover is as hard as he is and he feels a different sort of hunger stir inside him now. He briefly glances up at his lover’s face but Dwalin’s eyes are closed and his head leant back as he gives in to the teasing pleasure. Slowly Fíli runs his fingers over the bulge in Dwalin’s trousers, drawing a soft hiss from his lover’s lips. His imagination is running wild with what lies hidden under the fabric for him and he bends himself down and wraps his lips around the hardness still covered by the cloth, sucking through the fabric leaving a wet mark on Dwalin’s trousers.

Dwalin growls deep in his throat, on the one hand wanting to tell Fíli to stop teasing him like this and on the other enjoying the prince’s playfulness immensely. He glances down through hooded eyes, stroking the curls that have fanned out across his thighs and just watches and feels, not stirring, not speaking, just enjoying the attention.

Fíli tugs at the laces of Dwalin’s breeches with his teeth and begins to peel away what is preventing him access to his lover’s arousal. “Do … do you want me to?” he suddenly hesitates. He has never had a much older lover like Dwalin before, someone with so much more experience than himself. And suddenly he begins to lose his nerve the more he thinks about it. _What if Dwalin does not like it? What if I am no good? What if others have only ever been polite to me because I am the crown prince but in reality I am useless when it comes to bedsports?_

But Dwalin grins at him with a heated blush in his face as he drags his hands through that beautiful mane of hair again and gently tugs at the braids behind Fíli’s ears. “I do,” he moans softly, burrowing his bright eyes into Fíli’s. “I do if you do.”

The blond prince does not need any more encouragement as he pulls open Dwalin’s breeches and reaches inside. He shivers as his fingertips touch the burning skin of his lover’s thick erection, gently freeing the big warrior from his confinement. The shaft is heavy and hot as he wraps his hand around it and he is rewarded with a soft groan. He looks up to Dwalin who is breathing heavy with anticipation and maintains eye contact as he slowly lowers his lips over the soft moist tip of his lover’s cock.

“Oooh my wee prince,” Dwalin groans as he is taken into the heat of Fíli’s mouth. “That … that feels so good.” It has been a long time since anyone took him like this and he had almost forgotten the delight of oral sex as the years had waned his libido. But the beautiful dwarf who is treating him right now is rekindling his lust without any problem, sending a heated rush from his loins to every cell in his body. “Mahal …”

Fíli grins around his shaft and slowly takes him in deeper, running his tongue around the base of his crown and exploring his length with playful licks. Dwalin tastes slightly salty on his tongue, smells more masculine than some of his other lovers. And it is making him strain almost painfully against the inside of his breeches as the taste, the smell and the feel of the one he has wanted for so long is making him rock hard and pulse with desire.  

Dwalin sinks himself lower into the chair, bucking himself up a little and pushing his breeches down further until they are halfway down his thighs, allowing his prince access to his stones, which the younger dwarf readily takes into the palm of his hand, rolling them around whilst he continues to bob his head up and down his shaft. The beads of Fíli’s moustache playfully slap against his sack each time his mouth moves down, which makes for a delicious additional tease. Fíli certainly is good with his mouth as he sucks firmly at him. Not too rough, but not too gentle. Just the right amount of suction and warm wet pleasure in all the right places. And he feels himself come undone more rapidly than he would like to. “Fee,” he breathes heavily as the pressure building inside his testicles is announcing his imminent release. “C-coming …” he warns.

The blond prince simply winks at him from his knelt position and increases the speed of his mouth. Dwalin is a little hesitant. Fíli is his higher in rank and he should be giving him this pleasure not the other way around. And he certainly should not be soiling those beautiful rosy lips as he’s about to. But the younger dwarf is clearly intent on sucking the cum right out of him as he latches on to him almost ferociously. And other than rip the prince’s mouth away from his cock he decides that there is not much he can do about it now. Not that he is trying very hard …

He lets his head drop back and his eyes close momentarily as he gives in to the pleasure. It is only seconds before Fíli takes him over the edge and he spends himself down his suitor’s throat with a deep groan. Fíli continues to suck and tease him until he has to tug at his hair as he is becoming too sensitive to take any more of that delicious tongue running along his slit lapping up the last drops of cum. And he shudders as the young dwarf prince finally drops him from his mouth.

“Fíli, ye amazing wee thing,” he breathes heavily.

“Was that nice?” Fíli smiles up at him, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, before he rests his head on Dwalin’s thighs.

“Wonderful,” the older dwarf sighs, motioning the young prince to get up and climb into his lap. He greedily seeks his mouth, tasting himself on those hot lips that have given him such pleasure as he dips his tongue into the warmth of Fíli’s mouth, licking up the remnants of his own salty seed on his lover’s tongue.His hand seeks the bulge in Fíli’s breeches, grabbing at him firmly. “It should be me pleasuring you,” he admits his failure in his duty with embarrassment.

Fíli snuggles himself into the hollow of his neck. “You did bring me pleasure. I enjoyed doing that.”

“Good,” Dwalin grins, thinking how lucky he is. “Still, it is my duty to give you relief. And as yet that duty remains unfulfilled.” He gently squeezes the young prince through his breeches listening with delight as his lover whimpers needily. He grins widely and scoops his prince into his arms as he gets to his feet, making Fíli squeal in delight as he is carried towards the bedstead and thrown unceremoniously onto the furs as Dwalin trips over his breeches.

Fíli chuckles, staring up at Dwalin with eyes dark with lust. This all feels so absolutely right, he thinks. He has never before felt such a combination of desire and love for someone before. _Love?_ But before he can worry himself too much over that strange thought, the older dwarf has yanked his bottom clothes down completely and in the same motion pulls off his tunic, leaving him standing naked at the foot of the bed. And Fíli stares at him with open mouth, delighting in the sight of Dwalin’s strong muscles rippling in the light of the candles, in the beautiful tattoos that cover so much of his skin and which signify his bloodline and his achievements on the battlefield. Everything about the strong buck excites him. “You are so gorgeous,” he utters.

Dwalin raises an eyebrow. That is not something he is called too often by his lovers. Strong, yes. A brute by some. A good bedpartner perhaps, he’d like to think so. But gorgeous?

He slowly crawls on top of the princeling and roughly pulls Fíli’s tunic over his head, revealing his muscular torso. Fíli is sleek with youth still, but he is under no illusion of just how strong he is for his age, having seen his skill with many weapons over the years of teaching him. And he knows he will soon rival Thorin as a warlord.

Fíli giggles as Dwalin runs his tongue along his chest, the thick braid of his beard tickling him like a brush.

“Ya sexy dwarfling,” the older dwarf bites softly at the perked up nipples, making Fíli wriggle with pleasure. “Y’re wearing too many clothes still, young Fíli.”

“Then take them off!” Fíli orders with a smile.

“As ya demand, Zabadê,” Dwalin smirks. He yanks hard at the cord that holds up Fíli’s breeches and within moments the garment is in a pile on the floor and the blond prince lies exposed before him on his bed. “Beautiful,” he sucks in his breath. “What a delicious dwarf ya are, prince Fíli. Ye bring me such honour.”

Fíli blushes as Dwalin runs his large hand up his sack and along his length.

“What would ya like me to do?” Dwalin asks softly as he rolls onto his side and wraps Fíli in his arms, kissing his shoulders and running his rough hands down his back, over his buttocks and the back of his thighs until they move back to the front and find his hardness again.

“J-just pull me off,” Fíli blushes. He has had many dreams of those big strong hands wrapped around his cock. Hands that can so easily crush a man’s throat and that now hold his most vulnerable member so carefully.

Dwalin pulls him even closer, taking his mouth into a deep passionate kiss as he begins to stroke him in sure movement. “Tell me what ya like,” he whispers into his mouth.

“A little harder,” Fíli groans as he bucks himself up into the palm of Dwalin’s hand. “Aaah yes, good. Slow but hard.”

“Ye delightful wee dwarf,” Dwalin breathes heavily, feeling himself twitch again as he works his hand around Fíli’s beautiful cock, making him leak into his hand as he rubs the viscous liquid over his sensitive tip. Their kiss becomes hungrier, sucking and biting hard at each other, their tongues darting in and out of each other’s mouth as Fíli starts to thrust up into his hand with more urgency. “Are ye close, wee prince?” Dwalin whispers into his lover’s mouth.

“Yes, so close,” Fíli groans with a shudder.

“Then come for me, prince Fíli,” he pants as he jerks even firmer at the blond’s sleek cock. “Give me yer seed.”

Fíli groans and wriggles wonderfully against him, groaning and panting and finally crying out deliciously filthily when he spends himself into Dwalin’s fist, dripping his seed across his abdomen. The deep blush that flushes up his chest and into his neck is such as beautifully arousing sight and Dwalin thinks he can easily get addicted to bringing out that blush over and over again.

“Th... thank you,” Fíli shivers when his orgasm subsides.

“Y’re most welcome, my sweet prince,” Dwalin grins, pulling his lover closer smearing their fluids between the both of them. “Will ye stay with me tonight?” he asks eventually when their heart rates are beginning to slow down again, cuddling the blond dwarf tenderly.

“If I may,” Fíli nods, snuggling closer into Dwalin’s strong embrace.

“Always, my prince,” Dwalin kisses his forehead and wraps his leg over Fíli’s in a protective and possessive statement. He feels a stronger need to remain this close with his bedpartner than he has felt in a very long time – if ever?

 

***** Thafarsilafîn *****

All three of them are dressed in their finest clothes, which in Kíli’s case means his royal blue tunic with the silver embroidery of his heraldry and for the others their finely woven earth-coloured tunics as opposed to the coarser material that they have worn during travels. But as they arrive at Lord Nowë’s private chambers one of the guards steps out and holds up his hand. “CunnKíli _¸_ you are invited to join Hîr Círdan for dinner.” He whistles a funny sounding call at which two servants appear. “My Lord’s attendants will look after your men.”

“No,” Skírvir immediately argues, already hand on hilt. “Where Kíli goes, I go. I am his guard.”

The elf looks down at the burly dwarf, but does not show any emotion or sign of threat.  “We are the guards of Hîr Círdan _._ CunnKíli is under his protection,” he simply and evenly states.

“I do not care, _elf_ ,” Skírvir snarls. “It is my duty to protect my prince and I …”

Kíli places a hand on his chest. “It is alright, Skírvir. I will be fine. Now go and have dinner. I grant you the rest of the night off.”

Skírvir opens his mouth to argue but Kíli silences him with a quick hand movement. _You are dismissed._ _Both of you._

Kíli knows he will get it in the neck later. Either one or both of his companions are bound to report this back to Thorin who no doubt is already fuming over his decision to come here in the first place. But the elves have been more than welcome, have honoured him with a precious gift. And to be personally invited to dine with the Highlord is an honour not a threat as far as Kíli is concerned. Besides, he was brought up in Thorin’s footsteps, as a warrior prince and he is youthfully confident he can hold his own against an elderly elf if he needs to. The guards open the tall doors for him to allow him entry. He gawks as he takes in the circular tower room, white as all the other rooms he had seen so far and with high ceilings, but sparkling with tiny blue crystals that catch the moonlight and radiate it across the room. As he looks out of the window he can see the Gulf of Lhûn glimmer in the light of the moon and he can faintly hear the soft waves crashing against the rocks. He has never seen such an expanse of water before. From the ground you cannot see out any further than the estuary itself. But from up here he can just see the shimmer of the ocean in the far distance.

“It is beautiful, is it not?” Lord Nowë smiles as he appears from one of the side rooms, making Kíli jolt. “I have spent many years travelling across Ulmo’s Realm and my heart will always rest on the bottom of the ocean.”

The elf lord invites his guest to take a seat at the table and to help himself to the sweet elvish bread, smoked fish and fresh fruit. “So, prince Kíli of Durin,” he smiles warmly, “what made you decide to stay in Mithlond when the rest of your company returned to Thorin’s Halls in Ered Luin?”

“I am not sure,” Kíli answers honestly, chewing on the offerings. “I was intrigued when we first travelled through your harbours. The architecture is so different to ours. And I had heard much about yourself, Lord Círdan. Thorin originally sent me to Lord Suthri to learn about the customs of the dwarves who live in the southern mountains. And I have done that, but there is nothing more I can learn there. Now I would like to learn more about your people if I may.”

“There is always more to learn, Kíli. I have lived on Arda for many centuries and never once did I think I had learnt everything there is to learn.” Kíli lowers his head, feeling reprimanded by the ancient elf, but the elder carries on, “But it pleases me that you have returned to learn about your heritage.”

At that Kíli drops a grape onto the floor in shock. “My heritage? How do you know about that?” _How can this elf know about the scrolls that I have brought with me?_

“It is not a secret amongst my people, Kíli.”

Kíli stares at him with huge eyes. “ _Everyone_ knows? But how? They have been hidden in our vaults for centuries. Does that mean you know what they say?”

Nowë looks at the young dwarf with some puzzlement. “The vaults?” He leans himself back and considers the prince who stares back at him in equal confusion and he realises that they are obviously talking about two very different things. “You do not know, Caehên?”

“Know what?” Kíli says suspiciously now. He knows he is not being particularly polite but he feels unsettled that this strange elf lord seems to know so many things about him. And he is beginning to wonder whether he should have listened to Skírvir and keep him at his side.

But Nowë smiles kindly at him. “Your mother spent many months in Mithlond. When Lord Suthri moved to the Southern Ered Luin she came to negotiate the free passage through my principality.”

“M-my … mother? Dís?”

Nowë nods and gives Kíli some time to digest that bit of information. “It was some years ago. I guess …” he looks closely at Kíli, “maybe forty or so years ago?”

“Y-you met my mother?” Kíli coughs, enable to fathom this bit of information. He had never known his mother to leave Khagal’abbad. No dams did. And he cannot for one moment picture Thorin allowing his sister to visit the elves. To negotiate of all things!

But again the elf lord nods. “I knew your mother. And your father.”

Kíli’s mouth drops open. “My … father?!”

Nowë takes a sip from his wine, before he says softly, “I knew your father well.” He looks at the puzzled adolescent and chooses his next words carefully. “What do you know about him, prince Kíli?”

“He … he died before I was even born,” Kíli utters. “I think he was a merchant. There was an accident, on the mountain pass. His horse slipped and they both fell down the ravine. They could not find his body to lay him to rest in the tombs at Ered Luin. That’s all know of him.”

“I see.”

“You really knew my father?” Kíli has stopped eating now. His heart is racing at this news. His mother had never spoken much about his father.

“I did.”

“D-did he spend a lot of time here in Mithlond? What was he like?”

“Your mother has not told you?”

“Not much more than what I told you,” Kíli says quietly. “We don’t get to spend any time with our father until we come of age. When they are supposed to teach us a skill, a trade. Because my da died before I was even born … Thorin was the one to teach me how to hunt, how to forge.” Truth was he had never asked much about his dad, had never really been that curious. Fíli’s dad was still alive and yet his brother spent hardly any time with him. There never had been any reason to. Thorin had been in their lives more than any buck would have been with their own sons. He was their role model, their patriarch. But now that the elf lord has mentioned his father he suddenly wonders what he must have been like. Clearly someone more important than he had always thought if this old elf still remembers him. “Please tell me more about him. How did you know him?”

“It is not my place to tell you, prince Kíli. If your mother chose not to do so, then neither must I speak of it.”

“I … I have never really asked her much about him,” Kíli answers, feeling rather frustrated that the other had handed him these snippets of information only to close the door on him when he asked more.

But Lord Nowë does not seem fazed by his obvious frustration and smiles softly. “Then perhaps you should.” Suddenly he changes the subject so drastically that Kíli feels dizzy for a moment. “I understand you speak to Aulë.”

Kíli raises his eyebrow, not understanding the turn of the conversation. “Of course I do. He is our Maker.”

“Indeed he is. But he speaks to you directly, Caehên.”

Kíli looks back in confusion. “He speaks to all of my people.”

Nowë slowly shakes his head. “You are gifted, my child. You see him, you speak to him. And Yavanna. Only very few are granted such a gift.”

“That is not true,” Kíli retorts stubbornly. “All dwarves talk to him. Maybe elves cannot but …” Yet he is silenced by the quiet confidence that radiates from his host, which throws doubt on his own beliefs. “It cannot be. Why? Really?” _That is ridiculous!_ Mahal has spoken to him for as long as he can remember. Before he could even properly talk back. They were never lengthy conversation. One-sided mostly when Kíli talked and Mahal listened. And Yvanna he had only spoken with once. But surely all dwarves could speak with Mahal? Surely all bucks had been guided by Him during their coming of age ritual? He had told Thorin about that and he had not said anything about it – well, other than hitting him around the head for his apparent insolence of course.

“It is not something that He shares with all dwarves, Kíli,” Nowë seems to have read his mind. “Imagine how busy He would be if He did. It is a gift that only the Line of Durin are blessed with to a lesser or greater degree. And even then … You are special, Kíli. You are the one who was foretold, Caehên. The one who will reunite our races before the darkness returns.”

Kíli sinks back in his chair, wanting to laugh at this crazy old elf and yet he is unable to when he looks into those wise grey eyes. _More riddles? More prophecies?_ “I am not gifted,” he snorts. “I am not special. I was sent away because I bring shame to the House of Durin.”

“Because you are King Thorin’s promised One?”

Kíli almost topples over his chair and gasps. “What?! H-how do you …” he stutters, feeling his cheeks flare. How can this creature know of their sin? How can he look straight into his soul like that? “N-no! You cannot …!” he points a shaky finger at his host.

“I will not speak of it to anyone else, Kíli,” Nowë reassures him. “And I hope you will find the answers you seek in my library.” He shoves his chair back and wipes his hands on his napkin. “Now you must please excuse me, prince Kíli. Feel free to eat as much as you want before you leave,” he indicates to the food in front of him. “Unfortunately I must return to my duties. It has been a pleasure to talk with you and I hope there may be another opportunity before you return to Ered Luin.”  

Kíli is left staring at the empty seat, dumbfounded. It feels like every way he turns at the moment the more he seems to get entangled in something that is far beyond his understanding. Like he is a pawn in some sort of gameplay, something much greater than he is. And he feels more and more uncomfortable about it, wishing Fíli was here to talk to, to see what he thinks about all these riddles and prophecies. And as he listens to the sound of the water in the distance, a wave of homesickness washes over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ulmo is the Lord of Waters and King of the Sea.  
> Caehên (Sindarin) = earth-child


	31. Revelations

When Fíli wakes up he finds the brightest pair of eyes look back at him. “Dwalin,” he smiles and stretches himself up to steal a kiss from the older dwarf’s lips.

 “Did you sleep well, wee prince?” Dwalin says brightly, running his hands through the younger dwarf’s wavy blond hair. The braids have almost all come undone now and the tussled mane frames his face like gold thread. “Mmm,” he sighs contently, “y’re gorgeous like that.”

It is then that Fíli realises that he is naked and hard in his early morning arousal, no doubt aided by dreams of the intimate acts from the previous night and he blushes slightly as he pulls the covers up a little, suddenly –and possibly for the first time in his life- feeling a little shy.

“Had nice dreams?” Dwalin observes with a smirk, the state of his lover not having gone unnoticed despite the prince’s attempt to hide it.

Fíli blushes but grins. “I did. Did you?”

In response Dwalin suddenly nips at him and flips him on his back, biting down on his neck. “Y’re no dream! Y’re my delicious buck and by Mahal’s beard ye’re good with that mouth of yers, young prince Fíli Durinul.” 

Fíli squeals under the warriors nibbling and tickles as his hardness drags against his thigh. He has never enjoyed the morning after the night before. To not only wake up in his lover’s bed, but to have sexy silly fun together is a whole new experience and such a world away from leaving immediately after completing the act. And he feels such a fondness for the older dwarf, for the way he cares for him and looks after his needs. But also how he treats him as an equal rather than a trophy.

He is well aware that as the prince of Durin he is seen as a particular conquest by both bucks and dams alike. Up till now he had felt rather flattered when he had heard others brag about having been bedded by him.But that novelty is beginning to wear off. After all it has very little to do with his performance or his personality, just with the fact that he was born the son of Dis, heir to the throne. And in that respect it is rather unflattering to be just a tick on someone’s list, not because they really desire him but just because he is the highest in rank that anyone can get their hands on – after all Thorin had made it clear to all he is off limits, even before Kíli came into the picture. He knows that is just the way their society works. But having seen Kíli and Thorin together has really changed his perspective. Dwalin is so different to anyone he has ever slept with. He makes him feel special and not because of his title or claim to the throne.

“Dwalin ...?” he mumbles softly, making the bigger dwarf stop his playful attack and look at him.

“Kun, sweet prince?”

“I like this,” Fíli murmurs softly, suddenly unsure what he was even going to say.

“Me too, Fíli, me too.”

“I like you.”

Dwalin grabs his face and presses a long deep kiss onto his lips. “I like ya too, wee prince. I like being with ya a lot.”

 “I really enjoyed last night,” Fíli whispers softly, running his fingers slowly over Dwalin’s braided beard, threading his fingers around the coarse hair. He knows he is stalling for time, not wanting to get up but rather spend the morning kissing and messing around with his lover.

“I am glad ye did, wee prince,” Dwalin rolls onto his side and pulls Fíli hard against him.  “Would ya like to do it again?” he whispers hotly into his ear as he teases his hand down Fíli’s side and onto his buttock, squeezing him firmly.

Fíli feels himself pulsing with desire as he is growing even harder under the firm touch of his suitor. On the one hand he so desperately wants to give in and have rampant sex with the big dwarf. But on the other he really wants to wait. He wants to wait because of his brother, but also because this feeling of building desire without being able to satisfy it immediately is new and delicious. It makes him want it even more and he knows that if he just holds out a little longer, just until Zudraibrizamrâg when Kíli will be back, that the reward will be so good.

“Are y’alright, wee prince?” Dwalin smiles at the blond heir who seems to have stalled against him, lost in his thoughts.

“Very alright,” Fíli smiles back with a cheeky grin. _Not long now. Just until Midsummer._ And he feels for his lover’s cock and begins to stroke him in firm strokes as Dwalin treats him to the same.

***

She lies watching her brother breathe slowly in his sleep, feels his broad, muscular chest move up and down under her hand in a steady rhythm. They used to lie together like this when they were khazdîth. Of course back then Frerin would have been curled up against her back, his fingers wrapped around the long braid falling down her back. That was how they used to fall asleep, the three of them together, after Thorin had told them one of his wonderful stories about elves and orcs and dragons. But that was before those fairy tales had become a nightmarish reality. And before the image of her younger brother had begun to fade from memory.

“What can I do to make it all better for you and Kíli?” she whispers softly. She never thought she would be saying those words. Thinking about her brother and son together is still something that feels uncomfortable. But on the other hand could she wish for a better suitor for either? She has thought about the situation a lot over these past few months, from the moment she had walked in on them clasped together in a kiss that was not for her eyes to see.  And in truth she can see how they complement each other, how Thorin keeps Kíli in line and tempers his reckless enthusiasm when he needs to and how Kíli softens her brother’s angry temperament and brings out something that she has not seen in him since Frerin’s death – a pure form of happiness that rubs the years off his face. She can see that they love each other, true love like so few of their people get to enjoy in this lifetime.

And now, now that Thorin has once more denied himself any form of happiness, even that which was granted by Mahal himself, he looks to have aged twice over in but a couple of moon cycles. His hair has rapidly started to silver at the temples and the lines in his forehead have deepened. His skin looks weathered, his eyes have been distant. It’s like the tiny light that Kíli had managed to rekindle into a bright flame once more is now but a dying ember. And she is worried for how much longer before even that last ember will die. What will happen then? Will her brother lose his mind completely? Or worse …

“Dis?” Thorin asks softly.

She forces a smile at her brother. “You’re awake.” She tenderly strokes a few strands of hair out of his face. “How are you feeling?”

Thorin rubs his eyes, feeling a little confused. He has not woken up next to his sister since they left Azsâlul'abad over a century ago. “Why are you here?” he asks a little concerned, worried that there is another gap in his memory.

Dis grabs his hand and squeezes it softly. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I worry about you brother. You … seem so sad,” she whispers quietly, knowing full well her brother will not thank her for her fussing and concern.

Thorin sighs and turns his gaze away. “I am fine,” he says curtly, as expected.

“But you miss him.”

Silence. Thorin does not know how to respond to that. Dis has strongly voiced her disapproval of his relationship with Kíli and even if she had softened that point of view since his coronation and Kíli’s assignment, he does not believe his sister has had a complete change of heart and now approves of it. “Yes I do,” he answers in the end, because he knows she would not believe any other answer in any case. “But I still stand by my decision in order to … manage the situation.”

“And when he returns?” She cups Thorin’s bearded jaw, forcing him to look at her. “How will you _manage the situation_ then?”

Thorin narrows his eyes. That question has been churning over and over and over in his head to the point that it was really starting to drive him mad. Gorm’s words still echoed in his ears, about choosing a dam to carry his child. The worst thing is that he had even considered the outrageous suggestion, once his senses had returned to him in the days that followed. He was the king now; was it therefore not right that he should have his own heir, his own son, his direct descendant? If not for Kíli …

He had turned his anger at both himself and Mahal. Inward because it feels like even with that fleeting thought he had betrayed not only his beloved, but Fíli as well. He had brought his eldest nephew up as were he his own son, had never begrudged the fact that his heir was his sister-son not his own. Fíli is bright, handsome, charismatic and strong. He is fully confident that he will make a fine king one day. Now he cannot understand why the seed of doubt that the treacherous highpriest had sown had managed to take hold for even a moment and it sickens him more than the suggestion itself.

And still he has no answers as to what Mahal wants from him, from _them,_ with this whole outrageous situation from which no good could come for anyone. Surely Mahal had not just randomly decided to pick the one dwarf for him that would disgrace him and his lover. He knows full well that the Lagân play a much greater strategic game than any of them will ever know, but he hates being a piece in it without understanding its purpose. Yet each prayer has been met by a stark silence. As if his Maker has abandoned him completely.

“I do not know,” he sighs deeply.

Then his sister says something that more than surprises him. “Balin and I have spoken. We have thought of a way that you and Kíli may … spend more time together,” she chooses her words carefully, “in a way that would not rouse any suspicion.”

Thorin pushes himself up and stares at his sister wide-eyed. “You … and Balin … You have … But you …”

Dis smirks. “You know we both have your best interest at heart, nadad. But neither of us can deny any longer that Kíli is your blessing. And who are we to judge Mahal’s decision?” She pushes herself up to and looks closely at her brother. “Besides, I want nothing more in this world than for my sons to be happy. And I know that you make Kíli happy …” she says softly.

Thorin dares a tentative smile at that. “I am listening …”  

 

***

“Is there anything else I can get you, Kehnar?” Svior asks for the hundredth time as he fusses over the highpriest in his private chambers inside the temple. Novices are running in and out of, tending to him with meats and ale and fragranced water to bathe his feet in.

But Gorm waves his hand as he rests back. Ever since the incident at the Council meeting he had stayed inside the temple, as far away as possible from Thorin, mulling over the attack and over what had become of the King. He had never much liked Thrain’s eldest son. As a dwarfling the dark-haired prince had been a reckless child with little respect for rules. But as he had matured Gorm had found that although his manners had settled, his attitude towards their traditions and laws seemed not to have improved over time. There were so many little things that niggled at him; the way that Thorin appeared to treat dams as if they were equals to bucks being top of that list. But there was also the collaboration with the Bazrûn. Gorm had never approved of alliances with other races. Surely their history told them that those alliances meant for nothing when it came to it. No-one had come to their aid either when Smaug attacked or in Khazad-dûm. No, as far as he was concerned such arrangements only ever benefitted in one direction and it weakened their people and their traditions.

“I cannot believe they will let him get away with what he did to you, Kehnar. He should be punished,” Svior pulls him from his thought.

Gorm looks at the short long-bearded dwarf and he beckons him to come closer, a darkness creeping into his feature. “He is possessed,” he stresses. “Did you see how his eyes flared when he attacked me? Did you see the crazed look he gave me, like some rabid wolf? Did you see him thrash about?”

Svior nods again, his eyes wide with fear for what he had witnessed.

“He is possessed! And they are all under his spell,” Gorm lowers his voice conspiringly. “I have prayed to Mahal and I tell you that Thorin has displeased Him greatly by assaulting His loyal servant. As long as he stays on that throne, as long as he is supported in his madness, we are all in grave danger.”

Svior pales. “Then please tell us what we must do, Kehnar Gorm. There must be a way …”

“You must warn your Lord immediately. Tell Suthri that the King has fallen to the curse of the bloodline of Durin.”  He grabs the other hard by his forearm, forcing him closer. “But we must be careful. These are dark forces at work. We must find a way to end his reign of madness before we are all doomed. But we must tread carefully or we could lose our heads.” His dark eyes bore deep into the other dwarf’s who shrinks under his stare.

“Kun. I will, Kehnarê _,_ ” Svior swears to his religious leader. “By Mahal’s hammer you will guide us back onto a path of righteousness so that our eternal souls may be saved. Thank you, wise Lagânuglab.” And he scuttles out of the room to prepare for his return to Suthri’s court.

Gorm stares after him with a grin of satisfaction across his face. _You will not get away with this, Thorin Oakenshield. You will pay for your disrespect. No-one challenges Kehnar Mahalul unpunished. This I promise you by His beard_ _._

***

Whilst the first rays on the morning sun bounce off the white walls, Kíli throws his head back in the soft pillows as he thumbs his slit. He thinks back to the first kiss he had shared with Thorin and he chuckles at his own ignorance when he had got his first erection and thought that the end of his days had come. He sighs as he remembers how his uncle, his love, had subsequently shown him why his body was doing what it is doing now and how to bring himself pleasure. And how they had shared such wonderful intimacy thereafter. _Oh Thorin, I miss you so_ , he thinks to himself as he begins to stroke himself slowly. They have had so little opportunity to share their love, but the moments they had had had been amazing. How he wishes for Thorin to be lying on top of him right now, riding himself into his body as he whispers heated words of love to him. _Oh Thorin, I want you so!_

He is not blind. He has noticed the looks that others are giving him. From dwarves these are subtle, so as not to cause offence to the higher ranking prince. Surreptitious invitations that told him if he was interested his offer would be accepted. But here in Thafarsilafîn he has also begun to notice the looks he is receiving from the elves, which had really surprise him. He did not think these ethereal beings could ever find him attractive. Of course he was tall for a dwarf, as was Thorin. And his beard was still barely more than a stubble – both through youth and the fact that as an archer he had to trim it every so often as to not rip his facial hair out with his bowstring. But other than that he looked as much like a young buck as any other. So if not for his looks, were they simply interested in him because of all of these weird things that Lord Nowë had said about him; that he was somehow special?

He smirks. Whatever it is, it is flattering. Other than at Zannu Abkân - when everyone had been drunk and horny and therefore that hardly counted - he had never experienced any flirting from anyone up till now. To find that others in their ignorance of his commitment to Thorin considered him to be a potential bed-mate is quite exciting for the young prince. After all, those few dwarves that have been blessed with their promised one during their mortal life are mature bucks and dams, with ample years of free courtship behind them. He does not think he has ever heard of a virgin blessed dwarf before, who has not had the freedom to gain some experience with others first.

Of course he will never betray Thorin. But that does not mean that, whilst he is so far away from his lover, he cannot fantasise about what things would have been like if Mahal had not promised him to the dwarf king. In particular, he wonders what it would be like to court one of the elves. Has there ever been such a courtship in their combined history? Since the fall of Azsâlul'abad there has been a deep hostility between his people and the elves. But he knows that things had not always been like that. They had been brothers in arms in years long past.

But as he speeds up the rhythmic movement of his hand his attempt to imagine one of the elves in his bed is futile. Each time his fantasy quickly shifts back to his One. Thorin’s breath against his neck. Thorin’s large hands exploring every inch of his body. Thorin’s tongue teasing around in his mouth. Thorin’s thick erection slowly sliding into him until he is filled. _Oh Thorin!_ he screams inside his headas he grunts through his climax.

Panting heavily, he wipes his hand on the soft sheets and attempts to clean himself up with the same cloth.“I miss you so much, amrâlê,” he whispers into the space around him. And for a moment he silently curses himself for not returning to Thorin’s Halls with the rest of his company. He knows that when he finally does so nothing has changed. That Thorin will still expect him to keep his distance, not to show his feelings for him. But there must be ways. They can go hunting together again. And how lovely would it be to make love under the naked sky. Even if it was but once a year; it would be a treat he would look forward to all year. Their secret. Yes, he could live with that. They will be more careful. The Halls will be out of bounds. But there are ways. He will not give up on Thorin – stupid stubborn dwarf that he is – that easily. He will make sure that Thorin will be gagging for him, that he will not be able to resist him.

And with a satisfied grin across his face he decides to snooze for a little longer, before he goes and find Skírvir to visit the elvish library.

***

Kíli looks around the rows and rows of books and scrolls. He had been impressed by the collection that the dwarves held in their Temple library. But all that faded into insignificance compared to these endless rows that stretch high and wide in front of his eyes.

“Mi targê,” Skírvir utters next to him. “There are so many! What are you even looking for?”

“Just to find out more about the elves and where our history overlaps,” Kíli lies. “We lost so many of our scrolls in Azsâlul'abad.”

Skírvir looks at him with boredom written across his face.

“You don’t have to stay,” Kíli smiles, clasping him across the shoulder. “I don’t need you guarding me while I am reading!” _I’d rather you didn’t so I can openly ask the questions I want to ask._

“No, no, I want to,” the dark haired guard answers quickly. Truth is he really has no interest in history lessons – especially not from the elves – or books full stop for that matter. But he will not pass up an opportunity to spend some more time with his prince.

“Very well,” Kíli shrugs, a little annoyed as he really needs some privacy for this, but he slowly walks further into the enormous library, hoping that his guard will get bored soon enough.

“You must be Cunn Kíli of Durin,” a tall female elf, with long dark hair flowing down her back, appears from behind one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. She looks as young as all her peers to Kíli but he expects she will be Thorin’s age many times over. “Lord Nowë spoke to me about your request to access the royal library. I am Istiel and it is my honour to assist you.” She bows her head briefly. “Is it anything in particular that you seek, my Lord?”

Kíli glances over at Skírvir, whom he had hoped would have changed his mind and left him to it already. “I … I wish to learn more about my people’s history,” he begins on neutral territory. “A lot of our written lore was lost in the flames when Erebor fell. I had hoped that there may be things written in the history of your people that … ehm … would give some insight into the time of the Seven Fathers of the Clans.”

Istiel raises an eyebrow. “That is ancient lore indeed. You seek to learn of the First Age? Do you not hold such lore in your Temple scrolls, master dwarf? I had understood that the priests of Aulë had managed to preserve some of those relics.”

Kíli looks at Skírvir again, but the big dwarf has strolled off and is running his finger absentmindedly along the rows of books. “We do,” Kíli lowers his voice a little. “But they are written in a forgotten script.” He opens up his coat and pulls out one of the copies that Ori had given him. “These are copies of the ones that I would like to decipher. Our temple scribe believes that some of your people can still read these ancient runes …” he looks up at the elf-lady hopefully.

Istiel opens the scrolls and looks at it with interest. “Angerthas Daeron _.”_ She smiles kindly to the young prince in front of her. “Of course you may look at the scrolls and books in our library, which tell our ancient lore, and see if you find anything of interest.” She cocks her head at the rather tall royal dwarf. “Or I could teach you to read these old runes.”

Kíli’s mouth falls open in surprise. He had not dared hope that someone could actually teach him to read these scrolls. “Can you really?”

The elf woman smiles and nods. “It would be my pleasure.”

“I … I am not very good at learning,” Kíli flushes, remembering Balin’s frustrations with him as he had lost his concentration each time the older dwarf had tried to teach him anything.

“I am sure it will come more naturally than you might think, Lord Kíli,” Istiel says kindly as she takes the scrolls to one of the high tables.

“If you’re sure … That … that would be fantastic,” Kíli gasps as he follows her. He glances back at his guard. “Skírvir!”

“Yes, my Lord,” the other comes running up to him.

“I dismiss you from your duties for the rest of the morning,” he order, since his guard had not taken the hint himself. “Milady Istiel here will be assisting me with my research. Meet me at the archery range after High Noon,” he states in a manner that leaves no room for interpretation. And he smirks inwardly that apparently some of Thorin’s mannerisms have clearly rubbed off on him.

Skírvir narrows his eyes at the elfling, not amused that for the second time in as many days he has been sent away from his prince in favour of one of the elven kind. But he understands that this is an order and bows to Kíli before he turns on his heels.

Istiel offers the dwarf prince a seat. Kíli feels awkward with his dangling as he is sat on the tall high backed chair, like he is a mere child. But the elfling seems to not notice his discomfort or if she respectfully does she does not show it.

“Milady,” Kíli begins. “Howcome you can read these ancient dwarvish runes?”

At that Istiel raises a bemused eyebrow. “These are the Angerthas Daeron, my Lord. They were created by Lord Daeron, minstrel of King Elu Thingol of the Teleri.”

Kíli stares at her with large eyes. “You mean … these runes …” he points at them, “… they were created by an _elf_?”

“Indeed master dwarf.” Istiel places a large heavy book on the table and opens it with a thud, pushing it in Kíli’s direction. “Here,” she points to an illustration, which shows a written text in two scripts, one in the flowing elvish Tengwar and the other in what Kíli had believed had been the script developed by his people. “Our people once lived together in harmony and they used the same script. This one,” she points at the rune-script. “My Lord, could you write your name in the Angerthas Erebor _?_ The runes which you are familiar with.”

Kíli nods and takes the feather and the parchment that he is offered as he begins to draw the letters of the runescript. When he is finished he holds the piece of parchment up.

“Now look,” Istiel begins to draw another set of runes – the ancient runes of the scrolls - underneath the ones he had drawn and Kíli bends himself closer. “See how there are similar strokes between the scripts. When the elves replaced the Angerthas Daeron the runes became interlinked curved lines over time. Whereas your people made the old runes straighter, simpler, easier to carve into stone.”

Kíli slowly nods. He can see it. In isolation the runes look completely alien. But now that he can see how they form the basis of their developed scripts it is not hard to see at all.

“Some letters have been taken out over time,” Istiel continues. “And some have been changed, influenced by exchanges with other races perhaps. But these are the foundations of both our scripts.” She hands the piece of parchment back to the dwarf prince.

“KÎLI DURINUL,” Kíli states to his own surprise. “It says KÎLI DURINUL.”

The elfling smiles.

Kíli cannot believe it. He feels like he could cry. So simple and yet so powerful. It is like someone has ripped away the veil of concealment and suddenly he cannot understand how he could not previously see what he can see now. “It … it is so easy,” he stutters in disbelief.

“You are _Peredhel_ , you have the combined gift of both the dwarves and the elves.”

“I am what?” Kíli asks, carefully. It is the same word that he had heard Lord Nowë refer him as.

“Peredhel _._ Son of two races.” 

Kíli blinks at Istiel for a moment as he digests what she has just said. “What do you mean by that?” Istiel flushes, suddenly realising that what she had thought was known to the dwarf prince had been kept from him. How did he not know?

Kíli almost falls off his chair. “No … No! That cannot be. Are … are you are saying…” He attempts to steady himself on the table as the whole room spins around him. “I-I am an elf?! That is what you are saying, right? That my father was an elf?!” he gasps.

“My Lord, please, I beg your forgiveness. I thought you knew. It is common knowledge amongst my people.”

“Zabadu Dehar …” Kíli finds his whole body is shaking. _An elf. His father was an elf. Dis had lain with an elf and he had been born as a result from their joining._ “It-it cannot be,” he whispers. Elves are the enemy. Haughty, untrustworthy. A race without honour. _Thorin!_ If he had thought his love for his uncle to be impossible before … Does he know? No, he cannot. He would never have accepted the son of an elf into the royal line. _Shame!_ Tears are brimming in his eyes.

“Cunn Kíli,” the elfling tries carefully, “It is a great honour. Very few children are born out of the coming together of two races and they are always held in very high regard by our people. They are considered a gift of the gods …”

“Honour?! Gift of the gods?!” Kíli spits at her. “Do you have any idea what King Thorin will do to me when he hears I am a _halfling_?! I bring nothing but shame to him! And no wonder! I was cursed from the day I was conceived!!” He turns around. “I need some air …” he stumbles and then runs out of the library, tears streaming across his face. He runs and runs, past the guest quarters, past the Great Hall of Lord Nowë. Past the archery range where he almost bumps into Skírvir.

“Kíli!” his guard cries out. “Kíli, wait!”

“Go away!” Kíli shouts back at him, never slowing his pace. “Leave me alone!” And he runs on, past the elvish guard house and onto the salt planes that run all along the estuary. And there he sinks to his knees, sobbing into his hands. _No, no, no!_ It cannot be. How come his mother had never told him? Is she that ashamed? She had said his father was dead. That he had died traversing the mountain pass. Was that even true?

 _A halfling ..._ Son of the enemy … His birth has soiled the royal line of Durin with elvish blood!

“Kíli?”

He looks up, startled by his warrior guard.

“Kíli, what happened? What did the elf do?!” he growls. “If she touched you…!”

Kíli snorts. “Don’t be absurd! She did no such thing.”

“Then what …?”

“It does not matter,” Kíli gets himself to his feet, angrily wiping his face. “I … I just need some time alone, alright,” he snarls.

“My Lord, you know I cannot leave you here. Not outside the guarded city. It is my duty …”

“Fine!” Kíli snaps at him. “Then stay. But don’t speak. I … I just need to be alone with my thoughts for a while.” He picks up a pebble and throws it into the water, staring at the ripples.

Skírvir stares at him, shocked. Something terrible has happened. Why otherwise would his prince be so upset? And he will make these elves pay for whatever it is they have done. King Thorin had been right to distrust the elves!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zudraibrizamrâg - Midsummer Fest  
> khazdîth - dwarflings  
> Lugn - God (Vala)  
> nadad - brother  
> Lagânuglab - gods-speaker, he who speaks on behalf of the gods  
> Kehnar Mahalul - Mahal's Highpriest  
> amrâlê - my love  
> Mi targê - By my beard! (exclamation of surprise)
> 
> Peredhel is a Sindarin word which means Half-Elven. Tolkien canon only mentions 12 Peredhil, including Elrond and Arwen. These are all children from elves and men. Tolkien does not mention interbreeding between elves and dwarves.


	32. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Iklaladranamrâg my dwarven friends!! Thank you for your your support x

**Thorin’s Halls**

Thorin stares at the scroll and the little speckled feather that has fallen out of it. He traces his finger over the runes in Kíli’s handwriting. He can just picture the frown of concentration across the young prince’s face as he had painstakingly drawn each symbol. He knows it does not come naturally to the younger of his nephews. Whereas Fíli’s script is neat and consistent, Kíli’s is messy and misaligned on the page. And whereas once it would have made him frown in disapproval, now that messy script is making him smile fondly.

 

_Uzbad Thorin, Thrâinul, Thrôrul_

_Please find hereby my third and final report of my assessment of the defenses of Farak-khagal’abbad._

 

He skips the first four paragraphs, which he had already read and which hold no real interest. They tell him nothing more than what he already knows from Kíli’s previous reports and his own observation. That Kíli has done what he had asked him to do, but – and he could easily read between the lines – Suthri refused to really cooperate with him and therefore he had not achieved as much as he would have liked.

 

_I have provided Lord Suthri with my recommendations and I hereby consider my duties fulfilled._

_By the time this letter reaches you the company will be due to return in the next few days. However, Vrar, Skírvir and myself will not be accompanying them. I seek your permission to stay at Lord Nowë’s court in Thafarsilafîn to learn about the custom and culture of the elves of the harbour towns as part of my ongoing development._

_I will return to your Halls, Uzbadê akrâgul, before Zannu Adrâf to join in the celebrations._

_Please give my warmest greetings to my mother and brother._

_Zai adshânzu_

_Kíli_

 

Thorin stares at the letter and frowns. Zannu Adrâf _,_ The Night of the Kill, on the evening of the last day of 'af’iz during the Dry Time, at least two moon cycles from now. So Kíli will not be home for the Midsummer Fest …

He takes a very long intake of breath as he barely realises he is scrunching up the parchment in his hand as sadness and anger threaten to consume him. He had counted down the days until he would see his love again. For this to now be so far out of his reach again is pressing down on him like a physical weight.  

_How dare he make such a decision without my prior permission?!_

He lets himself fall back into his chair, breathing heavily as the paper falls from his hand when he flexes it. It is then that he remembers the little feather that had drifted onto the floor when he had opened the scroll first.

He bends himself down and picks up the tiny speckled feather and holds it in the palm of his hand. He recognises it as that of a thrush, the bird that is said to signal the return of his people to the Lonely Mountain. And he cannot help but smile as he remembers something that happened many years ago, when he had taken Kíli on one of his hunting trips and the young prince had found an injured thrush, which he had taken back to Oín and that he and Fíli had nursed better over the months that followed*. He knows it is a token. He knows that Kíli refers to that same memory with this little symbol. A peace offering. And he knows that it means that he still loves him.

He shakes his head and places the little feather safely inside his tobacco pouch. _Kíli, you stupid dwarf!_ he growls to himself. _Why do you have to defy me at every opportunity?_ He sighs again as he feels that worry and anxiety build in him again. _I miss you, damn you! Do you not miss me the same that you choose to be away from me for even longer?_

He knows it is not that simple. He had been the one to send his lover away, breaking his heart in the process. So to now be the one to complain about their separation is of course rather selfish and hypocritical. He should be grateful and happy that Kíli is finding his own way in the world, that he is embracing this opportunity to prove himself as an adult dwarf. But then his face clouds over again. _But with the elves …?! Of all places, that is where you choose to spend_ _Zudraibrizamrâg?!_

 _Calm down_ , he orders himself when he feels his temples pulse and he gets up and walks over to his harp. He runs his fingers slowly along the strings, before he seats himself barefooted on the floor in position to play his beloved instrument. When his fingers begin to plug at the strings he closes his eyes. It has been a while since he has played his harp and immediately the resonance of the strings sooths him. He joins the vibrations of the strings with his own deep singing voice, singing one of Kíli’s favourite songs, the one that tells of a time long before the fall of Azsâlul'abad. Of when their people found it - the Heart of the Mountain, the King's jewel.  When Azsâlul'abad became the greatest kingdom on Kamin and even the elves bowed down low before Zebdar Khuzdul.  

He jolts when he feels a hand on his shoulder, but immediately recognises the scent of his sister’s perfume. Dís has been spending a lot of time with him recently and although initially her fussing over him had annoyed him, he must admit he had come to welcome her company. They had always been close and she is able to comfort his anxieties like few others can. They need few words to be spoken between them to understand each other.  

He continues his song as his sister seats herself behind him and begins to pull braids into his thick hair, joining his song with her own voice.

“That was beautiful, Thorin,” Dís says softly when the tones of the harp fade away.

Thorin turns himself to press a kiss on her forehead but when he rises to his feet there is sadness in his eyes and in the slow outlet of breath.

“What is the matter?” she asks, seeing the deep ache in her brother’s features. Immediately worry over her brother grips her heart.

Thorin walks towards his desk, picking up the scroll of parchment, which he promptly hands to his sister. “The company will arrive back shortly. But Kíli will not be with them,” he states prematurely, before his sister has a chance to read the letter.

“W-what do you mean?!” Dís gasps, her eyes growing large in a panic as all the colour drains from her face. “He is … Is he …?”

“Hush, naragzunnashush,” Thorin sooths, realising his mistake. He kneels beside her, opening the scroll. “He is unharmed. But he has decided to stay in Thafarsilafîn until the end of summer," and he pushes the offending letter in her hands.

At that Dís pales possibly even more. “Thafarsilafîn? With Lord Nowë?!”

“Indeed,” Thorin growls low in his throat, his mood swinging violently between frustration, sadness and anger as he straightens himself again and begins to pace. “He abandoned his duties in the Southern Mountains to visit the elves. Elves!” he spits the word furiously.

Dís reads the scroll and sighs. “The elves in Thafarsilafîn are not like their kin in the North,” she tries carefully even whilst her own heart is racing.

“Elves are elves,” Thorin snarls, “Dishonourable and untrustworthy things. They are the enemy and I will not have my _nephew,"_ he says thickly, already regretting his choice of words, _"_ collude with them!”

“We are not at war with Lord Nowë, Thorin,” Dís squares her shoulders at her brother as she knows where this is going. “You asked Kíli to expand his horizon and that is what he is doing.”

“You are on his side?!” Thorin snarls. “Your son disobeyed my order! I told him to stay with Suthri and return,” he is starting to raise his voice, “by Zudraibrizamrâg!” he slams his fist on the table. “Now, that insubordinate brat has decided that he is going to spend months living amongst those tree-huggers! Well, not under my watch! I will send a messenger and an escort to bring him back,” he growls.

“Why?”

Thorin stares at his sister in disbelief. “Why? What do you mean, why?”

“Why will you bring him back like a prisoner? He is in no danger. He says he wishes to learn about their customs and culture. What is the harm in that?”

The king’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “I will not let a son of Durin live amongst those creatures without my permission,” Thorin growls stubbornly. “He is to come home immediately!”

“Then let me travel there.”

“What?” 

“Let me travel to Thafarsilafîn. And I will bring him back to you.”

“Out of the question,” Thorin shakes his head.

“Why? I am not with child. I have travelled there before when you refused to negotiate with Lord Nowë the passage through to the Southern Mountains,” Dís reminds her brother.

“The roads are unsafe. I will not have you travel there,” Thorin retorts bluntly.

She narrows her eyes at her brother. “I am no lass to be put away like precious gold, Thorin. I may not be a warrior like you, but I too know how to wield an axe. I will travel with my own guards. He may be your lover, but he is my son,” she states firmly, wanting to remind Thorin just how accommodating she had been to his decisions even if she had wanted to throttle him over them, but she swallows it.

They stare at each other, battling silently.

“As your king, I do not give my approval,” Thorin states curtly in the end, silencing any further argument.

Dís knows she is dismissed. He may be her brother, but as he’s made quite clear he is also the King. She can hardly disobey a direct order. “Do not drag him back like a child,” she warns him though. “He will not forgive you for that.” And she leaves her brother to digest that thought as she storms out of his room, her own thoughts whirling with questions as to why her son had decided to go there … of all places! _Does he know?!_

***

**Thafarsilafîn**

Kíli fletches his arrows with utmost concentration. He is sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, the tip of his tongue sticking out a little, as he strokes his thumb and forefinger along the feather. Now that he has had some time to calm down and think about what Istiel had told him a whole new range of emotions and questions are churning around in his head and he has needed to busy his hands with something that he is familiar with.

When after the initial shock he had returned to his rooms the first thing he had done was to study himself in the mirror for hours. Were his ears pointier than his brethren? Was the slight slant of his eyes a sign of his mixed heritage? Fíli had teased him how his beard seemed slow to grow compared to his own; was that because of the elvish blood that ran through his veins? And his frame … tall and sleek. Is that simply youth or will he never bulk like other dwarrow? So many things that he had always taken for granted were now sowing doubt in his mind.

He looks at the arrow in his hands, the bow lying by his side. He had never questioned his choice of weapon since Thorin had taught him to hunt with bow and arrow from a very young age. But he knows deep down that there are few dwarves who favour a bow over an axe or sword when it comes to combat. And the fact that the elves had been impressed by his archery skill …

He sighs. Istiel had told him it is an honour to be the descendant of two races. That the elves considered such children a gift from the gods. Should he feel honoured?

And his father … He cannot help but wonder what he was like. Lord Nowë had said he had known his father well. Was he still alive? Was he an important elf? Did he look like him? The one side of him is curious and wants to ask to elvish lord to tell him about his father – now that the secret it out. The other remains reluctant … Clearly his mother had been ashamed of him otherwise she surely would have told Kíli. Perhaps it is better that he knows no more. That he pretends he never learnt about his father. No-one else knows. If Dís had been able to keep her secret for over forty years, then so can he.

Yes, that is probably for the best. He will just pretend that the conversation with Istiel never took place. His father is dead, as far as he and everyone else is concerned. If he is to have any chance of convincing Thorin to reconsider their relationship, then his uncle must never find out the truth.

_Thorin …_

He gets to his feet and reaches for his backpack, pulling out one of the scrolls. “Reveal your secrets to me,” he smiles as he sits down and begins to painstakingly transform the old script into Karthu 'Urd.

***

**Thorin’s Halls**

Everyone is full of built up excitement as the beginning of the festival looms. After weeks of working from dawn till dusk the time for feasting is nearly upon them and already rumours have started in the bucks’ community of who will be given the honourable title of Harnkegger for producing the most and best goods in his chosen trade. This dwarf will be an honoured guest throughout the festival, being granted the privilege of dining at the table of the royal family and being the first to sample the first barrel of summer ale.

But within the royal quarters there is no such joy for the upcoming festivities. The tension between Zahar Durinul and Libthîn Mahalul is almost tangible in the air and although Thorin and Gorm have wisely avoided each other since the last Council meeting, everyone knows that they will have to face each other during the festival to commence and bring to conclusion the festivities, offering the joint blessings of Durin and Mahal.

Thorin sits at the dining table grinding his teeth as he absentmindedly impales his dinner on his knife only to put it back down again. 

“Nadad, you must eat,” Dís reprimands him, sharing a concerned look with Fíli.

She had not seen much of her son recently. Like all other bucks he had been working extremely hard over the last moon cycle and even when he was back within the mountain fortress she hardly saw him around. When she had, however, he tended to be in the company of Dwalin. She had begun to wonder if there was anything between the two of them.  The way they looked at each other in brief glances that they perhaps thought no-one else noticed. The way they stood just a little closer together than they otherwise would have. And she smiles at her eldest as he begins to blush under her stare. Aye, he has fallen for someone alright. But Dwalin? She smirks to herself. Her sons sure are adults now and full of surprises, the both of them.  

“May I be excused, uncle?” Fíli asks and to his surprise Thorin waves a dismissive hand at him. It is not often he is allowed to leave the dinner table before they have all finished, but looking at his uncle’s plate that is not going to be any time soon.

On his way out he almost bumps into Balin. “Apologies, Fíli,” Balin gives him a nod before he quickly walks on towards Thorin.

Thorin looks up, startled to find his advisor here. Normally dinner time is out of bounds for any of his advisors. It is one of the few moments in the day that he is not to be disturbed and gets to spend time with his family. Although now that the boys are grown bucks what was once valuable family time had over time become more of a battle of wills between the three heirs of Durin whilst Dís played judicator. And now that Kíli is gone … “Master Balin, what brings you here?” he turns his attention to the dwarf hovering next to him.

“I am sorry to disturb your meal, Thorin.” Balin watches his King shove his barely touched plate away. “But I felt we need to talk about tomorrow. I can come back later …”

“What about tomorrow?” Thorin stops his friend before Balin has a chance to turn away. “Sit down and say what you want to say.”

Balin takes a seat next to him, opposite Dís with whom he exchanges a quick glance. He clears his throat as he tenses in anticipation of Thorin’s temper. “Well … if it so happens that Gorm raises the matter of an heir again …” He can see the flame spark in Thorin’s eyes and he quickly adds, before Thorin can start his tirade, “Please hear me out, Thorin. If he does, may I suggest that you simply reassure your subjects that the royal line of Durin lies safe in the hands of Dís’ eldest. Do not go into discussion with him. And by Mahal’s beard, Thorin, do not lose your temper with him. I know ya do not see eye to eye.” He lowers his voice a little and bends himself forward. “I hold no love for the Kehnar myself. Gorm lost sight of his purpose to serve Mahal a long time ago and I believe he seeks only to serve himself now. But the folk of Durin hold him in high regard – as they should – and they do not see the politics behind the robes. They are simple folk, Thorin. Miners, crafters, toymakers. All they see and hear is that the Kehnar represents Mahal their Maker, gives them His word and wisdom. Do not anger the masses, Thorin. You must keep your people on yer side. You are vulnerable here, without the support from the other clans.”

Thorin scowls at his silvering advisor. “Do you think I do not know how to rule my people?” he hisses angrily.  

“Aye, Thorin, I do. But of late you have not been yerself.” He throws Dís another furtive glance who nods in support.

“You think I am going mad,” Thorin growls low as he returns his gaze to his abandoned dinner.

“I said no such thing,” Balin argues, keeping his concerns to himself. good! “But you know as much as I do that you have acted irrationally and I am concerned for you. There are tensions between the Royal House and the Temple. And we all have concerns about Suthri. It would not surprise me if Gorm has sent his representative back to Suthri to stir matters up. We must tread carefully, Uzbadê. If games are being played then we must make sure that we understand the rules and stay one step ahead.”

At that Thorin flicks his head back at Balin, a flicker of something between anxiety and rage behind his grey blue eyes. “You think Suthri will speak against me?”

Balin considers this for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I think Suthri upholds certain different values to you. And were he to state his claim …”

“Values?!” Thorin interrupts his friend.

Dís has to agree with her brother on this one. She knows what Balin is referring to. Suthri – like Gorm – is an old traditionalist, who holds religious law above all else and considers dams of the lowest ranking in society.  She had argued with Thorin about it many times, but her brother had always maintained that although he was the Highlord and the heir to the throne he would not rule over such societal matters in the other factions. He did not for the dwarves in the Iron Hills and neither would he do so with the Southern Blue Mountains. “You are King now, nadad.” she sees her chance to raise the matter again, “Suthri …” But the ice-cold stare she gets in return makes her tongue freeze in place.

“We will not have this conversation tonight,” Thorin stops the both of them. “I am tired and I have had enough of this talk of political games. Leave me.”

Balin opens his mouth but Dís shakes her head at him. She gets to her feet and watches Balin do the same. “Goodnight, brother. Balin,” she says curtly before she turns on her heels and heads for her own chambers.

Balin hesitates a moment more, not satisfied to leave the conversation like this. But Thorin tells him, “You need not worry. I will not give Gorm the satisfaction. And we’ll talk about Suthri after the Festival.”

Balin nods. At least it is something. “Then I too bid you goodnight, Thorin,” he bows and leaves the dining hall.

When both Dís and Balin have vanished Thorin finds himself sat alone at the large table, staring unseeing at the dark wood. He pulls his tobacco pouch from his belt and pulls at the lace string. He reaches inside the little leather pouch and gently thumbs the little speckled feather he had put in there for safe-keeping.

When Kíli’s company had returned earlier that morning of course he had been pre-warned that his lover would not be with them. Yet somehow it has still hit him hard as reality struck. And he finds that obsessive desire creep up on him again. How does the young dwarf have such a hold over him? He curses the betrayal of his body as he thinks about that soft skin, that cheeky smile, soft lips pressed warmly against his. And he can feel the stirring in his privates as he imagines pushing those soft pink buttocks apart to find the hidden treasure between them.

 _This is ridiculous!_ He silently scolds himself. He is King of Durin’s Folk and yet he continues to be distracted by these selfish primal urges.

He tries to return his attention to the festivities of the coming week. He normally enjoys the Deep Ale Fest. It is a time when his people celebrate the fruits of their hard labour; a joyous, proud occasion. But he fears for how events will unfold. He has no regrets. Gorm had been out of order in the Council Meeting and he had been right to defend his position and reinforce the boundaries of their power. But Balin had made some valid points. There were stirrings. Kíli too had hinted at some of those in his letters, although of course he had had to be careful what he committed to paper. He does not trust Suthri, especially not if he is in league with Gorm. In any other case he would have removed Suthri from his position of power. But he knows full well the reasons why he cannot in this particular instance.

He sighs as he mulls over Balin’s word. _If he states his claim …_ He had managed to placate Suthri for decades by offering him the Southern faction to rule. Would he truly be so bold so as to challenge him to the throne?

“Uzbadê, are you finished?”

He smiles up when the young, dark-haired 'idshankhuzd nervously peers at him from behind the servant curtains.

“Kun. Come here, Aelin Dwalinul,” he beckons the dwarfling. Still under the care of his mother, he'd agreed the boy could help out as one of his private servants. It gives the youngster an opportunity to get to know him and his family and be closer to his father before he will eventually move to live here with Dwalin to learn his trade.

The youngster swallows hard. Thorin did not appear in a good mood tonight and he had learnt from an early age to be wary of his father’s best friend’s temper. But the look in his King’s eyes is kind now and he also knows that it is rude not to obey his warlord. “Kun, uzbadê?” he asks softly as he steps before the King.

Thorin reaches out his hand and takes the youngster’s chin, gently turning his head this way and that. “You are a fine dwarf, bâhadashat. You will be strong like your father.”

“Kun, uzbadê!” the youngster beams proudly now.

“Tell me, what weapon will you wield when you come of age?”

“An axe, uzbadê,” Aelin grins from ear to ear. “Like my father! And I hope to serve you and your nephews, my lord. I will be a loyal warrior.”

“That you will,” Thorin smiles warmly. “Off you go now.”

He watches the youngster quickly grab the untouched plate before he dashes out of the room. He has no doubt that Dwalin’s youngest will be as loyal to him as his father is. But he cannot help but wonder, after the conversation with Balin, who else he can truly trust. If Suthri did raise his challenge, could he be sure his people would have his back? He believes he has been a fair leader. That he has done everything in his power to serve his people and Mahal well. He had always held the belief that it was enough. But is it? Should he have been stricter in his application of the old laws? Should he have made more of an effort to keep Gorm on his side? Should he have offered Suthri more sovereignty?

He sinks back in his chair. No, he should not have these doubts. He should never let these silent threats weaken his resolve.

But then there is Kíli … If anyone found out …

_No! No-one will find out; you will make sure of that. You will not make the same mistake twice! Besides, he IS your blessing._

At that he frowns even more and rubs his face. The gods have been silent since he had sent Kíli away. Had he been wrong to do so?  

“Mahal, have I displeased you?” he dares whisper out loud.

He flicks his head up as suddenly the familiar smell of Kíli’s heat stirs him, clear as if he is lying in his arms making love to him. His eyes flit around, despite knowing that it is just a figment of his dirty imagination.  And he rubs a large hand across his face as he feels like he is beginning to lose this battle with his sanity.

_Kíli. My love. Kíli. My life. I need you. You belong to me. Please come back ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is a wink to a oneshot that I wrote - http://archiveofourown.org/works/1757193 
> 
> Uzbad Thorin, Thrâinul, Thrôrul - King Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror  
> Uzbadê akrâgul - My honourable King  
> Zai adshânzu - At your service  
> Zebdar Khuzdul - The Dwarven Highking (Supreme King, he who wields the King's Jewel)  
> naragzunnashush - tiny black bird (Intimate Diminutive form)  
> Karthu 'Urd - Angerthas Erebor - the rune script used in Erebor  
> Zahar Durinul - House of Durin  
> Libthîn Mahalul - Temple of Mahal  
> 'idshankhuzd - Lit. lesser servant dwarf. A dwarf boy or girl (before battle ready age) who is in service of a general or army commander, usually doing household work (like a page).  
> bâhadashat - friend-son


	33. Midsummer Fest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all my wonderful readers!

**Thafarsilafîn**

Kíli watches the elves swarm around like bees in a hive as they prepare for the Midsummer Festival. Normally many of them spend their days inside their tall marble structures and seeing most of the inhabitants of the harbour towns gathered together in one place for the first time is quite a sight. As he looks down onto the big square from his tower room he thinks that the movement of silver and white silk gives the impression of waves rolling in and he thinks that these elves should be known as ‘âzahfanâd - sea-elves - as they appear to be one with that particular element.

But the strangest thing is the quiet. Despite how many of the elves are gathered together any words spoken are hushed, as if they are all afraid to wake a sleeping child. He and his companions had already been given a briefing about the elvish custom of Nedhlaer, their interpretation of the Midsummer Fest. How from midnight onwards they would not speak until the sunrise the next morning when the prayers in honour of the Valar would commence.

And already he thinks how he misses his people and the elaborate, loud and merry festivals of the dwarves back home with song and dance and lots and lots of food and ale.

But suddenly a realisation comes to him. These are his people too. _Son of two races_. He still cannot believe it. He is a dwarf! A proud dwarf of the royal house of Durin! There may be elvish blood in his veins, but he will never admit to this, to anyone. He will be the laughing stock of his people if not be cast out by Thorin himself. He looks at the swaying mass of tall elves and shakes his head. He is not one of them. He does not look like an elf, does not act like an elf – thank Mahal!  He is even beginning to wonder if Istiel had got it wrong. Perhaps she had mistaken him for someone else.

“Good afternoon, Zabad Kíli.”

He jumps as his guard startles him out of his thoughts. “Skírvir,” he smiles kindly.

“Not much of a festival, eh,” the other observes, joining him at the window. “I wish we were back home. They will be bringing out the first kegs by now. Roasting the pigs…”

Kíli can feel his mouth water and he feels a pang of guilt that he had ordered his guard and advisor to stay in Thafarsilafîn with him, causing them to miss out on one of the best festivals of the year.

“Perhaps we should show these cold creatures how one truly pleases the Lagân!” Skírvir grins as he picks an apple from the fruit bowl and takes a large chomp out of it. “Show them how we dwarves honour Mahal!”

Kíli smiles and he actually thinks that is a rather funny proposition. He turns to face his guard, only to find him stood so close behind him he almost turns into him and lets out an embarrassing squeak. “You made me jump,” he flushes under the grin the other gives him and he takes a step back to gain back some personal space.

“Apologies, Zabadê,” Skírvir mumbles and he stares at the floor, shuffling his feet. “So ehm … what do you want me to do? During the festival I mean?” he says a little nervously, really wishing he was back in Thorin’s Halls getting merry with his friends and hoping to have find his luck later when the festivities are in full swing, rather than be stuck here in this strange place full of strange elves upholding their strange boring customs. The only thing that makes this assignment bearable is Kíli. But the other still does not show any sign of interest in him, even though he has thrown him plenty of hints.

“Just stay at my side,” Kíli orders. Then he grins. “And find us some ale or wine. We will honour our hosts’ customs tonight. But tomorrow we feast as would befit Kanâg Durinul!”

Skírvir lets out an eager battle cry in response. “Aye, Kíli, we will show those elvish traitors how the dwarves make merry!”

Kíli feels the stab in his heart as he watches his guard leave his room. _Elvish traitors_. No doubt he will be branded as such if Thorin ever found out about the tainted blood that runs through him. He claws at his skin, wishing he could pull out every bit of elf inside him and be pure, like his brother.

***

**Thorin’s Halls**

When Fíli wakes up excitement pulses through him first as he realises that it is the start of the Deep Ale Fest today, quickly followed by disappointment that his brother will not be here to celebrate it with him. He had so been looking forward to this. Kíli was of age now and it would have been the first time he would have taken part in the adult part of the celebrations. He cannot for the life of him work out why Kíli would pass on such an opportunity when he had spent forty years looking forward to this day. Why would he choose to spend this festival day in the company of elves instead of his kin?

He had seen the rage under the surface of his uncle when Dís had told Fíli over dinner that Kíli would not be joining them for the festival. And he could not help but wonder if Kíli was doing this to defy his lover, punish him for being sent away.  And he feels annoyed at the both of them for their petty games which are ruining the festival for him.

“Y’alright, wee prince?”

He looks up into the crystal eyes of his lover. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I just miss Kíli.” He frowns even more now. Not only is he not here to raise the first pint with him, he has also ruined his plans to take his courtship with Dwalin to its peak tonight.

He feels in a rather uncharacteristically bad mood because of it all and tries to pull himself together as Dwalin pulls him back into a warm embrace. He decides to snuggle up against his lover’s broad chest for a while longer, before they go and join what will no doubt still be great festivities – just not what he had anticipated today to be like.

***

Thorin lets his attendants help him into his ceremonial garbs and he accepts the heavy golden grown with pride blooming inside his chest. He may not have achieved what his father had set out to do, but he has at least returned some pride and status to his bloodline.  

He has barely slept a moment all night and his dreams as always have been filled with indecent thoughts of his young lover. He curses himself for listening to his sister by not sending an escort to haul Kíli back to his Halls kicking and screaming. Perhaps he would have been angry with him for it, but Kíli is already angry with him regardless and at least it would have meant he could run his hands over that hot skin tonight …

_No! You can never do that again! You should not even think such debauched thoughts!_

He pushes his attendants away in anger. “Leave it,” he snarls as they fuss with his mantle and he watches them scatter under his intimidating stare.  

He sinks down into the large seat by the fireplace as he pulls out his tobacco pouch with the thrush’ feather again. He slowly twists the token of Kíli’s love between his thumb and middle finger. The motion has become a ritual now. A necessity. A compulsion. It is as if he forfeits his love for Kíli whenever his fingertips are not caressing that delicate relic. And he feels the pulse of anxiety begin to stir inside him again like a tidal wave, rising up and crashing down on him, seeking to drown the air from his lungs. The more he tries to fight it, the worse it gets and soon he finds himself gasping for air and his vision seems to have shrunk into this tube-like form.

***

Balin throws his brother a concerned look. Within the safety of Khagal’abbad Dwalin does not tend to follow Thorin around in his capacity as royal guard – in fact he is quite sure he would end up having a serious fallout with his friend if he did – and they both stand waiting for their King at the entrance to the Temple quarters. Thorin is late. And they can both sense the impatient stirring of those around them as the festivities cannot begin without his blessing.

“Where is he?” Balin whispers anxiously.

“He will come,” Dwalin tries to sooth his brother, but he shares the same concerns. Thorin may not be very punctual but he never leaves his people waiting this long. When another few long moments pass without any sign of him, he puts a hand on his shorter brother’s shoulder. “I will go and find out where he is,” he nods and Balin smiles a grateful but worried smile at him.

As he strides back towards the royal quarters, he can hear Fíli chase after him and fall in line with his step. “You think he is alright?” the blond prince asks nervously.

Dwalin is unsure what to respond. No, he is not at all sure that his friend is and he can feel worry creep up his spine as they approach the royal chambers. But just then Thorin appears in his full ceremonial robes looking every bit as majestic and intimidating as he should as the dwarrow king. And both Dwalin and Fíli simultaneously utter a sigh of relief.

“Uzbadê,” Dwalin nods to his king in his regal robes.

Thorin looks calm enough but he stops any further conversation with a brief signing of his hand and Dwalin and Fíli silently follow him towards the Temple quarters, neither daring to ask any questions as to why Thorin is so late.

Balin breathes out in relief as he can see Thorin approach and he watches the dwarrow lined up along the Temple entrance drop to their knee in honour of their king. Being of the higher ranks he simply is required to bow his head, which he does as Thorin comes to stand next to him. “Thorin,” he whispers, “we thought you were inconvenienced.”

“I was simply held up,” Thorin dismisses the concerns. Balin does not need to know that he had forgotten the time, or rather had lost time over his thoughts about Kíli once more. He does not need to know that it had taken every last bit of himself to claw back to the surface, back to reality, so that he could at least attempt to carry out his duties.

“Uzbad Thorin,” Gorm announces loudly as he strides up to them. And although both leaders maintain their professional stance and distance, the animosity fizzles between them.

Balin throws Thorin one last look which is a combination of a warning and concern, but Thorin pretends to ignore him as he follows the priest inside the Temple.

The traditional prayers and blessings are carried out in accordance with their customs and Balin is relieved that all seems to go as intended, without insult or incident. The crowd does not appear to notice the tension between the younger King and the older Highpriest and they roar in appreciation as the blessings of Durin and Mahal announce the start of the festival.

As Thorin returns to him Balin briefly clasps his forearm. “Blessed Ale Fest,” he smiles and Thorin nods and smiles in return as he leads the crowd to the Main Hall where he will be seated on the dais to oversee the drinking and feasting of his people.

***

**Thafarsilafîn**

Kíli watches with amazement as the elves begin to sing. No-one appears to have giving a signal, and yet the eerie silence is suddenly swallowed by this harmonious tone that rises in volume like a hurricane. He, Skírvir and Vrar stand near to Lord Nowë, who also joins in in the strange sounding syllables that harmoniously float through the air.

His dwarven companions shuffle uncomfortably next to him, feeling so very out of place amongst these tall and perfect beings. But despite his harsh words directed at himself Kíli finds himself mesmerised by it. It is like something deep inside him is responding to the ritual even if it is unfamiliar to his mind. And to his own surprise he softly begins to hum along to the repetitive chanting, wishing he could understand the words they are singing.

When Lord Nowë smiles at him in appreciation, he feels himself glow and he reprimands himself silently for it, feeling like a traitor, and he quickly shuts his mouth again.

The chanting seems to go on forever, but eventually the sound dies down as only the elvish Highpriestess can be heard chanting what Kíli assumes are the blessings for the festival.

The three dwarven guests are relieved when the official ceremonies are over and they are led to the Great Hall for the continuation of the festivities.

“Yay, food!” Skírvir calls out, a little too loudly and he snaps his jaw shut under Kíli’s reprimanding look.

But the young prince has to agree with pleasurable prospect of food and drink and even though he and his guests had not been required to fast like the elves did prior to the festival, he is starving nonetheless.

He is frustrated when they are expected to sit down at the tables and have to listen to more prayers and chanting before they are even allowed to touch the food. Even then, it is just not the same as the Deep Ale Festival and Midsummer Feast at home. The food is nice, but not as ample as back home and although there is fish there is no meat, which surely is the highlight of any feast?! And the elvish wine just does not come close to the early summer ales, the highlight of the festivities back home.

“Mi telakhu Mahal!” Skírvir cusses. “This is no feast!”

Vrar frowns at him, but Kíli cannot help but agree. He knows they have to stay a while longer because it would be impolite not to, but … “Zûr nî ag zatusmâ? Aktu ablâg ‘ala.” _How about we go hunting soon? After this meal,_ he says in their language so as not to offend their hosts with his suggestion. “Ra zadarufmâ galt dufut d’ashyun?” _And we will kill a fat boar to roast._

Skírvir’s eyes light up at that. “Yâ kun, Kíli!”

Kíli smiles that he has managed to come up with a solution for the disappointing situation, although Vrar clearly disapproves as he shakes his head. “Well, you do not need to come with us in that case,” he snaps at his elder and he turns back to the food and wine that is on offer right now.

***

**Thorin’s Halls**

For a while Thorin contently watches his people enjoy the rewards of their hard labour as they eat and drink and sing their loud and proud songs.

"Eat, nadad," his sister tries to encourage him. "You too have worked hard and you deserve the blessings of our labour.”

Thorin nods and accepts the meat offered to him by the servant staff. He knows that the best cuts will have been chosen for him and he wants to show that he is grateful, but he eats purely out of politeness rather than hunger.  

He attempts to make casual conversation with those around him, enquiring after their work and achievements. He talks to Gloin about his family. And then he turns to his heir, who is seated next to him.

"How is work in the forge going, Fíli?"

The blond prince answers proudly, "Very well, uncle. Business has been good and we are now getting more orders for fine jewellery."

Thorin smiles at his nephew. "You are very skilled indeed. You do me proud, irakdashat. And how are things with you?" he lowers his voice a little as he bends himself closer to Fíli, "and your courtship with someone very dear to me," he winks.

Fíli blushes slightly. "Very well too,” he answers casting his eyes down a little shyly. “I care for him a lot, uncle. As does he for me.”

Thorin places his hand on Fíli's arm. "Good. I am delighted for you," he says earnestly. "You are both very important to me.”

"Thank you, uncle," Fíli smiles. He hesitates for a moment, trying to assemble enough courage. "Thorin, would I have your permission to visit Kíli in Thafarsilafîn?" he regrets his request instantly as he watches the darkness fall over his uncle's face and he wishes he could swallow it back in.

"Lu’!" Thorin suddenly thunders at him.

The hall falls silent instantly as everyone stares at the royal dais. Fíli has paled and the others around the table have all tensed.

"I...  I miss him is all," Fíli whispers and he cringes as he realises he's only digging himself a deeper hole.

"No one is going to the traitorous elves!" Thorin roars. "That is an order! Any quisling who dares defy me shall not be welcome back in my Halls! Ever!"

Everyone stares at the king in shock as everyone thinks the same thing. But it is Gorm who takes the opportunity to ask the question that no-one else dares speak out loud. "Uzbad Thorin, I applaud your wisdom," his voice cuts through the tension. "A very wise decision indeed. And may we assume that rule applies also to those who have already forgotten their alliance, my lord? Such as your nephew, who has brought offence to Mahal by celebrating Midsummer with binutrâg rather than honouring Him with the proper rituals and prayers in the Temple?"

All eyes flick from the Highpriest to the King as the dwarves of Durin’s folk nervously anticipate the response.

"You speak out of turn," Dís is quick to jump in before her brother has a chance to respond. "My son will return now that the King has decreed this rule. But no law applies retrospectively." She looks anxiously to her brother to confirm the statement. _Oh Thorin, what have you done? You have no idea what you've just done!_

Thorin stares from Gorm to Dís and back to Gorm. "You dare question the honour of my sister-son?" Thorin growls, ignoring his sister's attempt to settle this matter in a politically acceptable manner. "Dare you challenge the House of Durin?!"

Gorm is turning an unhealthy shade of red as he steps forward towards the king. With a raised finger, he retorts, “I dare challenge that the same rules should apply to all! Please tell the good folk of Durin, king Thorin, why Zabad Kíli is not present at the festival today. Why he broke the terms of his assignment to the court of Lord Suthri in order to visit and stay in an elvish city at the court of an elvish Lord?”

There are in-draws of breath all around. The detail of the youngest prince’s delayed return had not been shared around and Gorm is really not painting Kíli’s decision in the best light. And those seated at the royal table can only guess at how Gorm has come by this information …

Thorin rises to his feet, ready to defend the love of his life. Balin pulls at his sleeve, trying to get him to calm down, hissing at him not to say anything as he had promised. But Thorin has never been good at keeping his mouth shut when he is angry, in the face of injustice or insult. “I will not have you challenge his honour!!” he roars. “Prince Kíli has Mahal’s blessing! You … you …” He clasps at his thick furred mantle as the room starts to fade in and out of focus rapidly and the sounds around him become slow, low tones that he can no longer distinguish. His body tingles and yet it feels like his skin is not attached. The only sound he can distinguish is his sister’s cry before the world vanished in that abyss that takes him.

***

**Thafarsilafîn**

Kíli feels a surge of excitement when he and Skírvir leave the harbour town, riding two of the smallest horses that the elves were able to provide. Luckily they are both tall for their race and it is not too much of a problem for the well-practised riders.

“I am glad to be away from there,” Skírvir says as they dismount. “Them elves, they’re just strange folk.” He eyes his prince who is pulling his bow and arrows from the saddle pack. “When are we going home, Zabadê?” he enquiries carefully, not wishing to cause offence.

“Soon,” Kíli promises as he tests the tautness of his bow. In truth he too wants to go home now. He misses everyone – his mother, Fíli and of course Thorin – and he misses home, the familiarity of the surroundings and customs. But he still has something he needs to do here in Thafarsilafîn, before they can leave. “Now let’s get some decent food to honour Mahal!” he quickly changes the subject before Skírvir can ask too many questions.

Between the two skilled hunters it does not take long before they have tracked a good sized wild boar and less than an hour later they are sat around a campfire, waiting for the skewered meat to cook.

“Kíli …” Skírvir begins, his cheeks warm with the glow of the fire.

Kíli looks up when the larger dwarf does not continue. “What is it, Skírvir?”

“I … I do not mean to cause offence …” the other stares nervously at his feet.  “I was just wondering … Is … is there someone waiting for you back in Thorin’s Halls? In courtship, I mean …” he blushes fiercely now and wishes he had never said anything.

Kíli considers the question, unsure how to respond. It is too dangerous; he decides in the end. And besides, he does not even know if there still is someone waiting for him. Thorin had made it ample clear to him before he was sent away that they could not be lovers. He slowly shakes his head, even though that action in itself feels like betrayal of his beloved.

Skírvir can feel the tiniest flicker of hope bubble up inside him as the prince denies the existence of a suitor back home.  He knows this is his chance – his only chance – as only now during the Festival time may he make his move on the young prince. He can feel his heart beat rapidly in his chest and his palms are sweaty. He really really likes the dark, handsome prince and although he is pretty sure he will be rejected, he still has to try.

He weighs up how best to go about this. He has not been on this side of the fence before. Being of their lower ranks the suitors normally come to him if they have any interest in him. And this is one of the princes of Durin! Does he make some elaborate proposal? In the end he decides to just move in for the kill. Kíli freezes as his guard makes a sudden move towards him and he loses his breath in an unexpected chaste kiss. When Skírvir pulls away he stares wide-eyed at him, the tingle of the kiss still on his lips.

“Skírvir, w-what in…?” he stutters. He had never expected this to happen. As the most senior ranking dwarf after Thorin and Fíli it just did not happen that anyone came on to him. But he had forgotten about the freedoms of the festivals. The Midsummer Fest did not demand that their people copulated in order to honour the gods – like the Midwinter Festival did – but many still choose this welcome opportunity to court, when the two communities came together and the lower ranks could approach those more privileged in standing than them. Sure, offers of courtship from the lower in rank were normally verbal shows of interest and not this forward, but technically it was not forbidden. “Y-you seek to court me?” he asks incredulously.

Skírvir has gone a deep shade of red as he stares at his hands. “I … I do, Kíli,” he answers nervously. “I … I am sorry. I should not have … But with the festival …”

Kíli does not know what to say although not saying anything will only make this situation more awkward.

“You do not accept …” Skírvir sighs, feeling his heart shatter at the realisation that Kíli is not returning the gesture.

“Skírvir, I …” Kíli takes a very deep breath. “I think you are a very attractive buck,” he decides to start with some flattery to sooth the wound. “It is not you, Skírvir. Had things been different, then perhaps …” He knows he should not say this, but how else is he going to get out of this situation without being rude. Of course he should just say no. He has the right to decline the offer without offering an explanation. But it proves not as easy as it sounds now that it is just the two of them out here. “I was not completely honest with you,” he says before he can stop the words. “There is someone back in Thorin’s Halls …”

Skírvir flushes and lets his head hang. “I … I see. I thought … You said …”

“I know I did and I am sorry. It … it is … complicated.”

“Then I apologise, Zabadê,” the guard whispers. But he feels a sudden anger rise up in him and he jumps to his feet. It is not his fault. He had asked Kíli upfront and he had not been honest with him. If he had, then he would never have … And now Kíli had let him make a fool of himself.

“W-where are you going?” Kíli asks as he watches the other dwarf stomp off.

“Don’t worry, your majesty, I will be close enough to defend you. As it is my duty,” Skírvir snaps back. He knows he should not, that he is being rude. But he cannot help but blame Kíli for his embarrassment and it makes him feel rancorous towards the dwarf-prince.

He storms of little away from his senior and sinks against the nearest tree, just on the edge of the clearing, where he tries to calm himself down. He can feel the humiliation pulse in his cheeks. Being rejected was one thing … but being rejected for another when he had thought there to be none … And who was this dwarf back in Thorin’s Halls that was the reason for his humiliation?  Who had stolen the prince’s heart away from him? He feels a sudden rage towards this unknown rival. And a devious jealously begins to bloom inside him as he thinks that if only this other could be moved out of his way … Kíli had said that if things were different, then perhaps … One obstacle that stands between him and the prince he has desired for so long. Five more months until the next major festival. A determination sets itself firmly the more he thinks about it. Dwarves do not remain in courtship, especially not young ones like him and Kíli. He just needs to let the other trip over and Kíli will soon look for another to play with. And he will make sure that next time it is him.

***

**Thorin’s Halls**

The Great Hall of the mountain fortress has never been this quiet. One would be able to hear a sigh amongst the hundreds of people if not everyone was holding their breath. Their mighty, magnificent king, the heroic prince who had led his people to the safety of Khagal’abbad and rebuilt their home here, who had given the homeless clan of Durin’s Folk a proud and mighty kingdom once more, has collapsed and lies motionless on the floor of the dais.

Slowly hushed whispers begin as anxiety grows. _Is the King dead?_ It starts with a hushed intake of breath. But slowly the words form more clearly as the four words roll through the hall.

Fíli, who had been knelt next to his mother as they tried to call Thorin back to their world, looks nervously at Balin. And when the other nods to him he feels like his own heart has stopped dead for a moment. He knows what is required. They have practised this scenario many times over since his coming of age, although Fíli had never thought that the day would come so soon. With his heart thumping in his throat he slowly rises to his feet and steps onto the middle of the dais. He holds up his arms as he calls for the attention from those around the room.

“Kanâg Durinul,” he says with trembling voice. “The king has fallen ill. But please do not worry, my uncle will be looked after by the best healers and we pray that he will be well enough to bless the end of the festival. For now, brothers and sisters, please continue to feast in honour of Mahal and in honour of the Royal House of Durin! We stand strong before you!”

The dwarves gathered before him look nervously at the young prince. They have never heard Fíli address the masses before and it is unsettling. Even though the words suggest that Thorin is not that ill, the fact that the young prince is stepping up to address them tells them otherwise.

But slowly the dwarves begin to move, pick up conversation and pick up their abandoned food and drink.

Gorm stands in the middle of the hall before the dais, staring at the motionless form of his adversary before his view is blocked by the King’s guards. He moves his gaze to the young crown prince, who throws him an evil glare before he turns his back. He gets the sense that it is best that he leaves quietly, before anyone remembers who triggered this latest attack. Slowly he backs away and quietly leaves the Great Hall as others try to continue where they left off – although the spirit of the feast has well and truly gone.

***

Whereas Dís had felt fairly calm the last time Thorin lost consciousness, this time tears are streaming down her face. Perhaps the fact that her brother is not even moving this time makes it even worse. Although the thrashing was horrible to witness, at least she knew he was alive. But this time round her brother gives not the slightest sign of life as he lies completely still in his bed. Oin has taken all sorts of measurements, from his neck and his wrist, looked in his eyes and his mouth, and has assured her that Thorin is alive. But as she strokes his limp hand she fears that he will never again open his eyes.

Equally she frets for her sons. Fíli who is in the Great Hall shouldering responsibilities for which he is not yet ready. And Kíli who is far away and unaware of how ill his uncle – and his beloved – is.

Dwalin paces the room and she wants to throw something at him as the motion is making her even more anxious. “Dwalin, please go and look after Fíli,” she orders him in the end, both to get him away from under her feet and to give her son all the support he needs as he tries to reassure their people. She is proud of her oldest, proud of how he had handled himself in this most awful of situations.

As Dwalin nods and promptly follows her instructions, she returns her attention to Oin. “Please tell me, will he ever wake up again?”

“I do not know, Zabdûna Dís,” Oin says honestly as he keeps his eyes trained on his king. “I have never seen anything like this. He is alive, but it is like he is not there. Like he has gone to sleep, but does not know how to wake up again.”

Dís stares at her brother as the tears roll in great streams down her face. “May I have a moment alone with him, Oin,” she says.

The old healer nods – there is nothing he can do for the king anyway – and he leaves the royal chambers, softly closing the door behind him.

Dís moves closer to the head of the bed and bends herself down to press a lingering kiss on her brother’s forehead. “Thorin, my sweet brother, please come back.” Then she makes a decision. “I am going to go to Thafarsilafîn and I am going to bring Kíli back to you. I know you have forbidden it, but he needs to be here. You need him here.”

 _And if it is your turn to go to Mahal’s Halls then your soulmate should be here to say goodbye,_ she dares not say out loud just in case her brother can hear her. But it is the thought that means her tears will not stop flowing as she strokes his deathly-pale face one last time before she leaves the room to start packing her bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘âzahfanâd – sea-elves  
> Lagân – gods (Valar)  
> Mi telakhu Mahal – by the hammer of Mahal!  
> Yâ kun – Oh yes!  
> irakdashat – nephew (side-son)  
> Lu’! – No!  
> Binutrâg – beardless ones (derog. term for elves)


	34. Lofn

_Ravens._

He had not seen the ravens for a long long time. When he was khazdith they visited him all the time and he would talk to them for hours at night.

He had once told his parents about the ravens but his father had vehemently disapproved of his _companions_. Thráin said that they were a bad omen. Harbingers of death. And he had told him under no uncertain terms to stop talking to these phantom birds in his head.

But they had never brought him ill news. Rather they came to him when he was in need of comfort. When he was very young they would visit him if he had been chastised harshly or if he had hurt himself during play. And as he grew older, into his adolescent years, they would come whenever he was in knots with himself over something. When he needed guidance or reassurance. They were never a bad omen. He would not argue with his father over it as he feared Thráin’s temper and his punishing hand. But in his heart Thorin knew they were messengers from Mahal.

After the desolation of Smaug the ravens had not visited him as often. Or perhaps they did but his mind was so full of other things that he did not take the time to stand still and listen as closely as he once had. But he knew they were always there. Watching over him. Comforting him through his darkest hours.   

Until recently, when it felt like Mahal and the ravens had both forsaken him. When the silence of his inner mind had been deafening, driving him towards insanity. He _needed_ their comfort, their wisdom and their advice now more than ever and yet they had seemed all but lost to him … just like Azsâlul'abad was …

But now they are here, cawing at him, circling above him and swooping down close as he is stood in the valley of Azsâlul'abad looking at the grand entrance of his family home. It is like he has never been away. Like Smaug had never come. The gates are still intact, imposing and impenetrable. The giant statues of his ancestors guarding the entrance proud and strong as before the serpent had turned their home to ashes.

“Azhâr …”

He wants to take a step forward to make sure that this is real and not an illusion – which surely it has to be! - but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. When he turns around he finds himself looking into the blue eyes of his brother. “Frerin …!”  

“Thorin.” The blond dwarf smiles and then embraces his older brother firmly.

“Oh brother … I have missed you so,” Thorin sighs into the embrace, hugging the solid, living, breathing form of his baby brother back fiercely. But then a coldness creeps into him. “D-does that mean …?” Thorin swallows hard. The Mountain … His brother … Is this a dream? Or is he …?  

But Frerin shakes his head. “Your time to join me will come, nadad. But not yet.” He puts an arm around his brother’s shoulder and turns him back towards their home. “ _That_ is your destiny,” he points towards the mountain kingdom. “You will reclaim the mountain and return our people to their rightful home.”

“No,” Thorin shakes his head, frowning at his sibling. “I have sworn to stay in Khagal’abbad. The kingdom is lost, Frerin. I must not chase such dreams at the cost of everything.”

“It is not a dream. That is your destiny, Thorin, for Mahal wishes it so. Then and only then, when Azsâlul'abad is under the rule of a dwarven king once more, will we feast together at His table.”  

Thorin is silent as he looks at his lost home. “My destiny …” he whispers eventually. “Zebdar’egam…”

“No,” Frerin says to his surprise. “That is not your destiny.”

Thorin turns to his brother, frowning. “What do you mean? If not the throne …”

“The sun will rise on the throne of kings.”

“The sun … What?” But already the image of his brother is starting to fade away from him. “Frerin, please … Will you stay a while … There are so many things I want to share with you. I have so many questions.”

“There will be time brother.” The strong voice is faltering now. A mere whisper on the wind. “You must reclaim the mountain. And then we shall talk and feast and battle for all eternity, nadad.”

The final clasp on his forearm is but a shiver against his skin. “I will …” Thorin whispers at the ghost of his brother as he fades completely from him. “Thank you.”

A raven flies up through where his brother had stood, its wings brushing past Thorin before that image too fades into darkness.

“Akhminruki astû, Mahal. Zakarugmi zarlzu.” _Thank you, Mahal. I will honour your wish_ , is his last thought before his inner mind turns silent once more.  

***

**Thafarsilafîn**

Mahal was a smith, a creator. His mind buzzed with ideas over what _His_ creation would look like, sound like, feel like. And each day he gazed at the empty surface of the world that had been created, waiting impatiently for Legnar Sulladad’s creation of the Firstborn. But Legnar continued to tweak, to shave and to mould. Perfection he would create, he said to the others. A race that would be beautiful and wise. That would create the most elegant of music and would care of the world he had so carefully created for them.

And Mahal had eventually run out of patience as Legnar never seemed to be satisfied enough with his creation. And secretly he created a race of his own; strong and fierce and loyal. They would be skilled blacksmiths in his own image, creators of the finest jewels. But he did not have the skill to give his creation the breath of life for stone has no beating heart. And so he glanced at the Seven Fathers and their wives whom he had forged from stone, deep in his Halls under Lignîn, with sorrow.  

When the All-Father reprimanded him for his impudence, Mahal offered Him his creation, showing Him their strength, their skill in the hope that the All-Father would not destroy his work but would appreciate its raw beauty. And as Legnar Sulladad accepted this offer, he gave His blessing and he granted the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves life. However, he would not allow the Dwarves to walk on Kamin before his own creation had awakened and as such he decreed that the Fathers would be put to the stone, deep underground, until such time he would allow Mahal to rouse them from their tombs, well over a century after the Elves had begun to walk the surface of the world.  

Every khazdith has been told this part of the legendarium. Every dwarrow child has had to recite the names of ‘Addad Haded, the Seven Fathers, and mahdulyasthâna and the places at which they were each laid to the stone, regardless of which was their own Clan. And all dwarves know that Mahal created Thirteen Dwarves – six pairs and Durin the Deathless who _lay alone_.                 

“Why did Mahal lay our Father alone?” Kili had asked Balin many times before. “Why did he not grant our Father the blessing of mahdulyasthûna?” But the older dwarf had had no answers for him. Yet it was a question that continued to churn in his head from time to time. Durin was the eldest, the wisest, Mahal’s favourite son. Which is why Durin’s Folk were considered the most important of the dwarf Clans, his line revered by all even after the great kingdoms of Khazad-dûm and Azsâlul'abad had fallen. It made no sense that the First Father of Durin’s Folk would be withheld his blessing. And this was the question he was determined to get an answer to, hoping to find it in the ancient scrolls.  

Reading the ancient runes was no longer an impossibility. He was now able to painstakingly translate every ancient symbol into one he was familiar with. But that was only the first part of the challenge. Even after he had rewritten page after page into a familiar script he was left with a document that was hardly any more understandable than it had been before. Many of the ancient words were unfamiliar to him and the sentence structure was completely alien to the khuzdul he knew. And so he had spent many nights trying to work out this puzzle before him that he felt deep inside his gut held the answers he was looking for – of why Mahal would curse him with a blessing he could never really have? – but getting nowhere with it.

At least it gave him something to do, something to keep his mind focused. After the incident in the forest, Skirvir had hardly spoken to him. He understood that the other felt hurt, offended perhaps, but equally he thought he needed to get over it. Many dwarves were turned down in their attempt of courtship and Kili felt in hardly a better place than his guard. At least Skirvir was free to court another. Whereas he himself, after Thorin had so coldly turned him away, was left with the prospect of never feeling the delights of courtships again. And as such he felt little sympathy for his suitors broken heart. Nonetheless it made for an awkward tension between them and he avoided his guard as much as possible by locking himself away in his chambers and once more bending himself over the scrolls, desperate to understand.

But when frustration and desperation had finally got the better of him he had had to resign himself to the fact that he could not do this alone. And right now he stands before the doors of the great library once more to seek help from the only one he thinks might be able to. 

“Cunn Kili!” Istiel says in surprise. Their last encounter had seen the young dwarf prince run from the library as if some evil possessed him. She feels a guilt flush up in her as she recalls how she had unknowingly revealed lady Dis’ secret to him.

“Le suilon, Istiel,” Kili greets the lady in the polite elvish greeting. “I … I must apologise for how I reacted …”

“Not at all, master dwarf,” Istiel interrupts him quickly.  “I should be the one to apologise, I did not know …”

“Let’s just forget about it,” Kili says quickly, not wishing to dwell any longer on his mother’s betrayal. “The reason I came here today …” he pulls both the original and the rewritten scrolls from his belt, “… I was hoping you could help me with some of the words.”

“Of course, my lord,” Istiel smiles kindly, relieved that this important guest had forgiven her her insolence, and she invites the dwarf prince to take a seat at the high table with her again.

“I think I have established that the ancient lore is different to what we are taught about our Seven Fathers nowadays,” Kili points to the particular paragraph which he has annotated. “You see, we were always told that Mahal – Aulë – made thirteen dwarrow out of thirteen stones.” Istiel nods, she is familiar with the legend too. “But here,” he continues animatedly, “I am sure it talks about _fourteen_ dwarves? _Khazâd kanakwê_. I cannot be sure though as fourteen in khuzdul is _ramekhsasekh_.  I don’t know this word,” he points to _kanakwê_ , “… it is not a dwarvish word. When I looked it up the only reference I could find was to the Quenyan word _canaquë,_ which I am sure is _fourteen_.”

“It is,” Istiel smiles, impressed by the work that the prince had clearly put into his research. The fact that he seems to share her love for the old languages, even if she does not fully understand his motivations, makes her feel a great fondness towards the young dwarven prince. She bends herself closer over the original papers and slowly traces her finger across the ancient runes, mouthing the syllables. As she comes to the end she nods. “You are correct, my lord. It says here that _when Eru Ilúvatar told Aulë to lay his creation in the stone until the Firstborn had settled on Arda, the great smith carefully crafted seven tombs to lay to sleep the fourteen - kanakwê - dwarves, pair by pair._ ”

Kili can feel himself tingle with excitement at the confirmation. “I knew it!” he exclaims. “Mahal did make mahdulyasthûna for Father Durin!”

Istiel smiles at the excitement of the young prince. “What is _mahdulyasthûna?_ ” she asks with returned interest.

Kili feels the smile drop from his face and he hesitates a moment. This is a closely guarded secret of their culture and besides he should not be teaching this elf anything about their sacred language. But then he frowns at himself. Istiel clearly knows his language well enough already and she is helping him decipher these scrolls without wanting any payment in gold or riches. Perhaps a payment in shared knowledge is a fair price to pay. “Mahdul-yasthûna. Blessed wife. Us dwarves do not mate for life, like your people, for in the Halls of Waiting awaits us our true love," he explains. "But occasionally Mahal grants such a blessing during our mortal lives, to those whom he favours above all others. These dwarves are called mahdulyasâth. Blessed Mates. Soulmates, if you like, in the common tongue. Once a dwarf has been granted his or her One they may not court any other for this is their one true love.” He shuts his jaw shut, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sadness that constricts his throat.

Istiel looks carefully at the prince, who seems particularly affected by this notion of a soulmate. She asks no further as it would be impolite to probe the regal dwarf about such private matters. But it seems an odd subject for a young male dwarf to take such a passionate interest in and she suddenly wonders about who the prince's soulmate may be that he is researching these ancient texts...

“But then why are we taught that he was laid to the stone alone?” Kili asks out loud in attempt to move the conversation away from his own heartache when the sudden silence between them feels uncomfortable. He shakes his head. “It makes no sense, Istiel. Mahdulyusth is the greatest blessing for any dwarf. Why would that have been removed from our lore?”

“I do not know, master dwarf,” Istiel answers honestly. She picks up the scrolls and slowly reads through them. She has studied the ancient runes for centuries and even then reading the dwarrow interpretation still does not come fluently. The ancient words are a combination of Quenya and Khuzdul and an odd mix of what appears to be khuzdul spelling of the ancient elvish language and it makes it an incredible challenge to decipher. “Here!” she says suddenly as her eye falls on a particular section. And she slowly begins to translate it in the common tongue.

_And Aulë waited for the Firstborn to awake. But Iluvatar wanted his creation to be perfection and he continued to make small improvements. And Aulë grew impatient as the years passed. He wished to have a race that would learn his skill. That would wield hammer on anvil and mine the treasures that had been placed deep inside Arda. He wished to teach them the language of khuzdul, which he had designed for them. And so he began to craft his vision in secret, deep inside the belly of the earth. He chose thirteen of the strongest and most magnificent stones, which would be the wombs that would bring forth his creation. And from these he crafted the Seven Fathers and Seven Mothers of the dwarves._

_He worked day and night, hammering with the love of a father at the stone he had chosen. And his creation, which he named Khazâd, began to take form. Soon there were twelve Khazâd laid out before him. And he admired his creation, the strength in their build. They were stout, broad and strong and he swore that they would be hard workers and fierce warriors._

_And then he turned his attention to the final stone, the largest and most magnificent of them all. And out of one piece he created the King and Queen of the Khazâd. He blessed them Durin and Lofn as he stood and he admired them. They were his favourite creation of all. And their love would be the strongest of them all as they were born from one stone womb._

“They were brother and sister!” Kili gasps. “ _Born from one stone womb..._ Mahal considered them brother and sister. Twins even!”

Istiel looks at the young prince and smiles. “It appears that way.”

“But … that makes no sense …” Kili says in confusion. “If Mahal made Durin’s consort his sister and he considered that to be the strongest love, why would he then forbid such relations?”

Istiel considers this for a moment and then remembers something. “Wait a moment, Cunn Kili,” she says as she gets up from her chair and begins to walk down the rows and rows of books and scrolls.

Kili stares at the scrolls, rubbing his face. None of this makes any sense, he only feels more confused now. _Brother and sister?_   Is that why they are taught that Father Durin was laid to the stone alone? Because his love for his wife – his sibling! – was considered a sin?  But their laws descend from Durin himself as dictated to their forefather by Mahal. Why in the name of all that is good would Mahal dictate a law that goes against what he considered his most magnificent creation?! He shakes his head. _That is preposterous!_

He looks up when Istiel eventually returns with a very thin and very old looking book. She smiles at him as she places the book in front of the both of them. “I have heard that name before,” she says in her soft elvish voice. “ _Lofn_.” She carefully opens the fragile book and turns over the thin yellow pages. “Here it is,” she smiles at Kili. “This is written by an elvish lore historian from the early Third Age, reflecting on the final decades of the Second Age and what preceded the Last Alliance,” she explains. The book is written in Quenya and Kili looks at her questioningly, before she begins to translate the text.

_… so that when Prince Celebrimbor gave Lord Durin III the seventh and most powerful of the Dwarven Rings of Power, he watched with regret as the corruption took hold of the mightiest of the dwarf chieftains and the greed and gold lust stirred a madness inside him. But Durin III remained steadfast as he fought against the curse of the ring. And whilst the other dwarf chieftains fell to the temptation of the riches that the enemy offered them, the strong Folk of Durin stayed loyal to their Alliance with Elves and Men._

_It was during those days, when alliances were tested and broken, that the Temple of Aulë began to gain power inside the Halls of Moria. The Highpriest became a revered position of power answerable to Aulë alone and he could not be removed from power by the King of Durin’s Folk. This influenced the role of the Highking considerably, who before this time had been a supreme power answerable to no-one but the Council of the Clans. This new force of power began to change the culture of the dwarves, placing a far greater importance on religious practice and tradition._

_One of the most remarkable decisions that the Highpriest made was to rewrite part the lore of the Seven Fathers._

Kili draws in a sharp breath at that, but quickly stills, eager to hear what is to come.

_It is said that this change came about as a result of the fall of the Council of the Clans after the rings of power turned the dwarf chieftains against each other, each Clan trying to preserve their own wealth and power to the detriment of the others. The families of each of the dwarf lords would force brothers to lie with sisters, uncles to mate with nieces in order to keep the power and wealth within the Clan-bloodline. Even though King Durin III himself became tainted by the power of the ring, he could see how their race became weakened when the unity of the Clans was lost and they became islands in a sea of growing tensions as a Great Evil began to root in Middle Earth._

_Durin III was urged by the Elvish Lords to reunite the Clans and honour their Alliance as only united did they stand a chance against the uprising of the darkness. And so Durin III decreed that relations between siblings and first and second generation relatives would be forbidden under their laws to try and force the Clans to strengthen their bonds through inter-clan marriage once more._

_Of course this decree posed a significant problem for the lore of the line of Durin itself, the only of the Seven Fathers whose consort was his own sibling. How could the King forbid what was their forefather's blessing? And so Durin III convinced the then Highpriest to remove all reference to Lofn, the sister-bride of Durin the Deathless from the scrolls. The lore was amended to that of the creation of Thirteen dwarves by Aulë with Durin’s Folk being formed out of dwarves from the other six Clans, as a mixed people._

_His fallen-from-grace consort became synonymous with forbidden love and to this day she is revered as the patron saint by those who defy the new law laid down by Durin III._

Kili stares open-mouthed at the elfling. He can hardly believe it. He has never in his forty years on Kamin heard any mention of this saint, Lofn, before. And the law … it was not laid down by Durin the Deathless at all. It was a much later amendment originally intended to reunite the Clans against U’zan. Somehow, it had become distorted into what was now believed to be a sin in Mahal’s eyes …

“How could he change our law?” he frowns. “Our laws are unchangeable. Thorin said so himself.”

“In times of great suffering and loss many decisions are made that would not otherwise be accepted, Cunn Kili,” Istiel says empathetically. “When faced by an Evil as corrupted all in those days the only thing that mattered became self-preservation and survival. Do not judge your elders too harshly, my lord, for had they not made the decisions they had you and I might not be here today.”

Kili nods slowly. _Yet still …_ “But it means ….,” he expresses his thoughts out loud, “… it is not a sin! Mahal _does_ approve!” He could kiss the elf-lady for relieving him from at least one wickedness. “It is a blessing! The priests are wrong! Mahal never forbade our love! Oh, Istiel, that is the best news ever!”

The elfling smiles at him, not entirely comprehending Kili’s words, but understanding enough as to why Kili has such an interest in these ancient texts.

Kili’s head is whirling. All he needs to do now is somehow get this piece of information back home so that he can show it to Thorin and Gorm and all will be well. Thorin can change the law back now that they are in peacetime once more and they can be together. He can actually be Thorin’s prince-consort! Not having to hide his love for his uncle anymore … He feels light as a feather as his whole body appears to be glowing from that prospect.

“Milady Istiel, would it be at all possible for one of your scribes to copy this text and translate it into the common tongue for me? I will of course pay for it.”

“Cunn Kili, it would be my great honour and no payment is required. You are the one who will reunite our people once more and it has been my honour to assist you.”

Kili stares blankly at her. He will be lucky if he is allowed back home unscathed. But he does not argue with the elfling. “Thank you, Istiel. I am so grateful.” He feels relieved and elated.

_Thank you, Mahal. Forgive me my doubts. I will show the folk of Durin their error so that we can honour your blessing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> khazdith – dwarfling, dwarf under the age of forty  
> Azhâr – home  
> Nadad – brother  
> Zebdar’egam – Throne of the Highking  
> Legnar Sulladad - Eru Ilúvatar  
> Lignîn – Valinor, home of the Valar  
> Kamin - Earth  
> Mahdulyasthâna – blessed wives (single - mahdulyasthûna)  
> Mahdulyasâth – blessed mate (soulmate) (single – mahdulyusth)


	35. Sadrondor

Thorin’s condition had not changed come of the Summer Festival and so Fíli had found himself stood in his full princely attire addressing the gathered crowd once more to bring the festival to its conclusion.

Now he feels exhausted and sad as he knocks on the door of his uncle’s private chambers.

“Enter,” comes Balin’s voice from within. Thorin’s closest and most trusted friends are taking it in turns to sit with their friend and their king, hoping – praying – for a change in his condition. After he had collapsed at the opening banquet of Midsummer he had opened his eyes later that evening. But the stare was blank and his body remained rigid. Fíli thought it was eerie to see him like that; his strong and at times intimidating uncle lying like he was dead in the stone yet somehow still breathing. He did not like coming here He did not like seeing Thorin like this. But it was his duty to relieve Balin from his watch and it was his duty to Thorin to look after him.

“Any change?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. There has been no change for nearly two weeks now. And he wonders how his uncle can go so long without food or drink or even relieving himself and yet still be alive.

Balin sadly shakes his head. “I am afraid not, Fíli _._ How did it go? The blessing of the festival?”

Fíli shrugs. “It went fine.” _Not really. It should have been Thorin. I know that everyone wanted it to be Thorin and not me._

Balin puts a hand on the blond prince’s shoulder.  “You will make a fine king one day,” he reassures him. “But not yet. He will get better, lad.”

Fíli looks at the older dwarf and wonders who he is trying to convince here. “There are whispers,” he says softly. “They think I do not hear their tongues wag, but I do.” He lowers his voice, just in case Thorin can hear them. “They say that Thorin has gone mad. That he is possessed. That he has succumbed to the curse of Durin’s line.”

Balin sighs. He has heard the whispers also. “He has not,” he says calmly. “He is ill, that is all.” But equally he knows not what is truly wrong with Thorin nor how to turn the tide of these ill-spoken rumours. They have tried to reassure the people. Bless Fíli, he has tried so hard to keep the festival going and continue to waylay any concerns over the king’s health.  What else can they do? Unless Thorin somehow recovers from his unknown condition what else are people to think but that he has lost his mind or worse?

“Will you be alright?” he asks the prince kindly, glancing back at Thorin.

“Yes, master Balin,” Fíli nods. Dwalin had promised to keep him company later. It was clearly not the way he had intended to spend his courtship with the warrior, but all thoughts of anything else were now forgotten in view of the situation at hand.

He watches his elder leave the room and finds himself alone with the still form that houses his uncle. Normally he sits himself on the chair in the corner. But tonight he needs more comfort from his uncle. He climbs onto the large bedstead and snuggles himself up against Thorin’s body. It is strange to feel the warmth radiate from his unmoving form. Being so still he almost expects Thorin to be cold like the stone he seems to have turned to.

“Thorin,” he whispers, not knowing if his uncle can even hear him. He absentmindedly threads his fingers through the cord in his uncle’s tunic. “Thorin, please come back. I … I cannot do this on my own.” He can feel a tear slip from his eye and run down his cheek. “I miss you, irak’adad. Dís has gone to bring Kíli back to you. Please Thorin, you must wake up,” he says desperately.

He sighs sadly as there is no response, but then jolts as he suddenly can feel a finger brush against his hand.

“Thorin!”

He looks at the hand, but it remains as still as it had been and he thinks perhaps he has imagined it. He tentatively runs his fingers over his uncle’s broad rough hand, tracing over the silver rune ring. And his breath hitches as this time he sees the fingers move ever so slightly under his touch. “Oh Thorin,” he gasps. “You are there! You can feel my touch! Can you hear me?” He looks closely at his uncle’s face, but there is nothing there. Just the blank and unblinking stare.  Still, he is sure now that at least there is something there. Thorin may be somehow locked in his own body, but he feels that he knows he is here with him.

He threads his fingers carefully into his uncle’s hand as he rests his head onto his chest, listening to the achingly slow heartbeat inside. “The festival has finished,” he begins to talk, feeling more confident now that he is not just talking to an empty shell. And now that he thinks Thorin can hear him he feels obliged to talk to him, to be the one connection back to the outside world for him. “I gave the blessing, uncle. I … I think you would have been proud of me.” He shudders as he can feel the slightest shift in the hand wrapped around his own again, taking this as an acknowledgement. “Everything is going well, Thorin, you need not worry. But your people miss you. They need you, uncle. They need to see that you are still their strong leader.”

He slowly pulls his hand back and sits himself up. He looks at his uncle’s face, his beautiful dark hair contrasting even more against his pale skin. Fíli crawls over to his uncle’s dresser and rummages around for the crystal-toothed comb. He carefully pulls out the royal beads that hold together Thorin’s braids and begins to unravel them. Slowly he begins to drag the ornate comb through his uncle’s thick hair, pulling out any knots until the smooth strands fall across the pillows. “I miss you, Thorin,” he whispers again as he begins to pull the thick braids back into the hair. “I miss you in the forge. And now I miss you at home too. When you are better, I would like us to go hunting together again. Or maybe we can go to one of the towns of men to negotiate trade. I would like that, Thorin. I like you teaching me how to be a leader,” he rambles on, afraid of the silence that so starkly reminds him of Thorin’s illness.

Just as he has finished fastening the beads back into Thorin’s hair there is a knock on the door and moments later Dwalin appears. He raises a surprised eyebrow at finding his lover sat next to Thorin and then smiles as he sees the re-braided hair. “He will appreciate that,” he says looking at his king. “No change?”

Fíli slides off the bed and wraps his arms around the big guard, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “Actually, there is. I am sure he can hear me,” he smiles. “And I could feel his finger move against my hand. It was only slight, but it happened a couple of times when I spoke to him. I know he is still here, Dwalin. He just needs help to come back.”

Dwalin runs his hand gently along Fíli’s cheek. “That is good, wee prince. And when Dís returns with your brother, we must all pray that Kíli will know how to bring him back.”  

“He will,” Fíli smiles confidently, leaning into the comforting embrace.

***

Dís’ heart feels heavy with emotions as she and her entourage approach the first of the twin harbour towns. Of course she is looking forward to seeing her son - this had been the first time her baby had been away from her for more than a week and without him being under the safe wing of his uncle she had worried about him every moment of every day as naturally any mother would about her brood taking their first adult steps into the world.  

But she is also dreading the moment. How is she going to tell Kíli about Thorin's condition? What will she tell him since she herself does not know what ails her brother.

And then of course there is another worry weighing down on her. Does he know? Does Kíli know her secret – their secret? And - she barely dares to think it - will _he_ be there; Kíli’s father? She feels dizzy with the possibility. It has been forty years!  

"Are you alright, milady?" Dai asks as she looks at the princess with concern.

“Yes, yes, just weary from the travelling,” Dís smiles faintly.

Dai nods but she knows there is much more to it than that. How lady Dís is still standing as strong as she is is beyond the round-chested dwarrowdam. With the princess’ brother overcome by an unknown illness, her eldest son running the affairs in Thorin’s Halls when he has not even fully matured yet and her youngest living at the court of an elvish lord, she thinks anyone else would have gone mad by now. But Dís, as she has come to expect from her friend and lady, is dealing with all these matters in a most calm and pragmatic manner. And she admires her greatly for it. “We are nearly there, milady,” she says kindly, wishing she could shoulder some of her lady’s burdens. “I will send the messenger ahead to notify Zabad Nowë of our arrival.”

“Akhminruki astî, Dai.”

Dís returns her gaze to the horizon. The last time she had seen the spires of Thafarsilafîn rise up against the sky had been forty-one years ago, when she had travelled here to negotiate on Thorin’s behalf whilst he had looked after Fíli back home, doting on his baby nephew better than any mother could. She had not known then in what state she would be returning to her brother, carrying the child of an elvish lord. If anyone had told her that when she had first seen the sun reflect off the silver tiles of the city roofs, like the scales of a fish, she would have scolded them for causing such offence! She, like her brother, could surely hold no love for the race that abandoned their people when they needed their help the most. How wrong she had been!

The elves of Thafarsilafîn were nothing like what she had expected. She had never met any of the elven kind before. Back in Azsâlul'abad she had been kept out of any matters of politics, instead being taught what her elders felt were duties appropriate for a dwarrowdam of her standing. And so her only impression of the elves came from the bitter tales of her elders and brothers; of how all elves were untrustworthy, traitorous and honourless creatures.

Yet that is not at all what she had found when she had been invited to Lord Nowë’s court. Despite her initial hostile stance towards the elf-prince and his people, he had invited her into his home with open arms. She had been asked to dine with the Highlord himself and slowly her suspicion of him and his subordinates turned to interest, admiration and respect. These were an ancient race, with a wealth of knowledge well beyond her own and that which was preserved by Durin’s folk. Yet much to her surprise they were not arrogant about it; instead they sought to share their knowledge with her whilst absorbing any new information she offered in return.

Lord Nowë also spoke highly of her grandfather and great-grandfather. And he expressed his regret how the grandson of King Thrór had never visited Thafarsilafîn up till then. But how delighted he was that the princess of Durin’s folk had granted them such honour. And how he hoped that they could re-strengthen the allegiances between their people over time.

Dís had smiled politely at that, even though she knew that trying to convince her stubborn brother of such a suggestion was going to be futile. But secretly she too hoped that one day Thorin could set aside his grievances. Or if nothing else that her child, Thorin’s heir, would not become tainted by her brother’s judgement of these people but that instead Fíli would be able to make up his own mind about the world around them.

And then Lord Nowë had introduced her to one of his many-times-over greatgrandsons - an elvish prince still many years over her mortal age, but young for elvish principles. The elvish royal had not swept her off her feet the minute she saw him as he was hardly the handsome buck she would have expected to be the father of her second child. For an elf he was not that tall, but his face was smooth as a newborn babe and his hair was fine like spidersilk. And she thought that to him she must have looked just as unattractive, with her richly jewelled beard and stout stature.

But as they got to know each other over the following days, as the elf prince showed her round the city, they soon learnt that there was a mutual attraction between them that ran far deeper than any physical appearance. Lord Sadrondor took it upon himself to teach her about the elvish culture and customs, including the complicated address between them. He also taught her some of their history and the history of the harbour towns, much of which was closely entwined with the history of the dwarf clans who had lived in the mountains long before Thorin had brought Durin’s Folk here. And Dís had been fascinated by it all. Amongst her own people the teachings of bucks and dams were vastly different, each focusing on those elements of the lore that were relevant for their task in pleasing Mahal. Bucks learnt about the honours of warfare, when dams learnt about the blessing of childbirth. But here were things about the history of her people that she had never heard before. And as each day passed she grew closer to this blue-blooded elf.

As she got to know Sadrondor better she was most surprised to find that he was fun to be around. On first arrival she had been startled by how serious the elves seemed. Always dressed so proper, their voices always softly spoken. But such were their customs around court. Outside that they could also be cheeky, rowdy – although no match for their dwarven counterparts – and fun. Sadrondor taught her to fish and to hunt with a bow - something that Thorin had refused, although he had taught her how to wield axe and sword, which in itself was unusual for a dwarven princess. And she grew both in skill and in confidence.  

Then one night Sadrondor had taken her to walk along the beach of the estuary. Their bare feet had left prints in the warm wet sand as they stood looking at the light of the moon bouncing off the waves rolling into the bay. It had been a mesmerising sight, one she had never seen before and never since.

There he had bent down and pressed a soft kiss on her lips, telling her he loved her.  

She still is unsure which bit had startled her the most - the kiss or the love confession. What did he mean by that? Dwarves only proclaimed their love for another if they were soulmates, which was rare at the best of times during their mortal lives and in any case could never exist between a dwarf and someone from another race! Aside from the blessing of madhulyasâth dwarves courted freely and without commitment, for the purpose of either pleasure or reproduction or both. It was not an expression of love as other races spoke of it.

“You cannot,” she had said, turning away, trembling. The kiss had confused her also. It had felt tender, warm; different to any kiss she had had before. “You cannot love me. Never has an elf been with a dwarrowdam. It would be an abomination!”

But Sadrondor had laughed softly at her and pulled her in his arms. "Lady Dís, our races may not always see eye to eye. But in our long history there have been many strong alliances. Do you honestly think there has never before been a romance between our people?” He had softly stroked her long braid and repeated the kiss, this time longer. And the dwarven princess had known that from that moment her heart had been lost.

Their romance had been brief. Dís knew she had to return to her brother’s court soon; she had already been away for longer than agreed. And she had felt a deep sadness at the thought of leaving the elflord, whom she had grown so fond of over the weeks she had spent in Thafarsilafîn, behind. But she could not stay here and neither could Sadrondor return to the dwarven fortress in Khagal'abbad with her.

On the final night of her stay Sadrondor had invited her for a meal in his chambers. She still remembers the flutters that had played in her stomach. She had never felt anything like it before. It was not the embers of lust she felt during the festivals back home. It was not even like the connection she had felt with Fíli’s father; a dwarf of fine standing and one she had courted for months before her season started. And when after dinner their kisses had become passionate she had allowed him to lead her to his bed.

She had never known a joining like it before or since. Her own people were passionate, hot-blooded lovers; bucks and dams alike. But the elflord had been so very gentle with her that she had felt like she was floating on a cloud. He had taken good care of her too, putting her pleasure before his own as they had made love – real love! she had felt sure it was! – until early in the morning.

Tears had brimmed in her eyes as they had said their farewells the following day, not knowing if they would ever meet again.

Little did she know that the elflord had seeded new life inside her. She had not even known she was in season and had never expected to be so soon after her eldest. It could take over ten years for a dwarrowdam to come into season again after her first child. So when the signs of her condition had started shortly after her return to Khagal'abbad she had felt confused. She had not lain with anyone since Sadrondor but surely she could not have conceived from their joining? He was of another race; she had not even thought that a child could possibly come from that?!

But as her belly filled she knew there could be no doubt in her heart. The babe grew just like Fíli had grown. And as it did her anxiety grew also. What if her child looked like an elf? Would her treason be there plain for all to see? Thorin would surely disown the child if he found out about its father. So when he had asked who had sired the child inside her she had lied and told him he was one of the dwarrow lords from the Iron Mountains who had stayed with them for a while. Thorin had raised an eyebrow at her choice, but ultimately had accepted that the dwarf had been of sufficient ranking and had smiled that the child of a lord from Dain’s court would strengthen their alliances with the far-away faction. All Dís could hope for was that her path with the dwarrow lord would not cross again, at least not in Thorin’s presence, for him to deny the claim.

When Kíli was born she had sighed a breath of relief to find that he looked just like any other dwarrow babe and that Thorin instantly loved him as much as he loved Fíli. The only physical attribute that reminded her so starkly of Kíli’s father were his deep dark brown eyes, when the other heirs of the line of Durin all had varying shades of blue. And only as the years passed were there very subtle indications of his true heritage that she picked up on only as she knew the truth; his slow to grow beard, his height – although Thorin too was a tall dwarf – and his remarkable skill with the longbow, being able to shoot and kill from a much greater distance than even his uncle could. But none of these things screamed out the terrible truth; that her son was a halfling, son of the enemy. And as Kíli matured she began to relax, believing that her treason could be forgotten and that her child would not have to suffer for her sin.

As the years passed and Kíli grew from a wild and adventurous child into a stubborn and mischievous young buck, she could see her own blood run through him. She saw her brother’s younger self reflected in him; his fire, his obstinacy and his mischief. But she equally saw his paternal lineage in him; his eagerness to run through the forests and climb every tree on his path. His thirst for knowledge even though he lacked the patience to be taught it inside a classroom, instead preferring practical lessons.

And all the while she never stopped longing for Sadrondor.

She once had written a letter to her elvish lover, shortly after Kíli's birth, but had prayed him not to contact them in return, so afraid was she that her secret would be found out. She needed to protect her son first and foremost, his reputation and his birth-right as third in line to the throne. Such was her duty until he came of age. And for that she had to put aside her own feelings for the sake of her child.

As the years passed she fulfilled her duty to honour Mahal as she lay with the finest bucks; no longer to bring forth a child as her fertility ceased, but to enjoy the pleasures that the Zabadu Dehar granted them in return for their hard work. But always in her mind was that one night of passion with her secret lover and she held onto the dream that some day they would meet again and she could introduce him to his son.

But the opportunity never arose again. Now that she had agreed the terms with Lord Nowë on Thorin’s behalf, her brother - be it reluctantly - was the one to travel with his entourage to the southern faction each year thereafter. She had considered asking if she might go in his place, even if she might accompany him. But she knew there would be no reason for it and it would only rouse unwanted suspicion. And so four decades had past and she has no idea if Kíli’s father is still there. Whether he had received her letter and knows about his son. And if so, whether they had met each other yet.

 _Does he ever think about me?_  

She is so wrapped up in her thoughts and memories that she only realises that they have reached the gates of Thafarsilafîn when her pony comes to a halt behind that of her guard. She takes a deep breath as she looks up at the tall gates and then at the elvish guards on either side, knowing that within a few hours she has to face her son and whatever emotions that will bring with it.

***

“’Amad?”

Olrún, the busty princess, official consort of Thráin, raises her eyes to her eldest son and smiles at the dark-haired khazdith. “Thorin. Come in.”

The young prince steps forward. Thorin is a curious child. At times unusually quiet, introverted, as he seems to prefer the company of no-one but himself. And yet she knows that a current of mischief runs through his veins.

“What is it, dashatê?” she asks when the prince sits down at her feet but does not say anything more. “Come up,” she pats the space on the divan beside her. She watches the youngster scramble up and opens her arms to cuddle him against her bosom. “What is it you wanted to ask me?”

“When will ‘adad be king?” Thorin asks, looking up at his mother with his big blue eyes.

Olrún smiles and runs her hand through her son’s thick curls. “Not until Mahal calls your grandfather to his Halls, my dear one.”

At that Thorin frowns. “Then when will I be king?”

“Not for a very long time, little one,” Olrún chuckles softly. “Only when both Thrór and Thráin dine at Mahal’s table will you become king. Are you so impatient?”

But Thorin shakes his head fiercely. “I do not want to be king.”

His mother raises her eyebrows. “It will be a great honour to be Zebdar,” she tries to reassure her son, understanding that the job must look boring and daunting to such a young dwarf prince. “All the dwarrow on Kamin will say your name in reverence. And you will have all the riches of our kingdom, all the gold that flows through these halls, my sweet child.”

Thorin considers this. But then shakes his head again. “No,” he says stubbornly. “I do not want to be king. I want to be a warrior.” He crosses his pudgy arms and a dark frown slides across the young prince’s features.

“But why not?” Olrún looks at her son. “You will make such a handsome king,” she grabs his cheek fondly, but Thorin pulls away in horror.

“Balin says I will have to have a consort when I am king. And that I will have to kiss a girl!”  he mumbles, shuddering. “I don’t want to kiss a girl. Girls are odd.”

At that the princess begins to laugh loudly, much to Thorin’s annoyance. “I am a girl and I don’t think I am odd,” she mocks offence.

“You are ‘amad! That is different,” Thorin huffs.

“Well … When you are old enough to be king, you will want to have a consort. And you will like kissing girls,” Olrún ruffles Thorin’s dark waves.

“Why do I need to have a consort? And why does it have to be a _girl?_ ” Thorin frowns even more. “Why can Dwalin not be my consort? He is my best friend,” he says proudly.

His mother smiles. “That is good. But no, my son, Dwalin cannot be your consort. He can be your mate, but not your consort. Because a king needs to have an heir. As you will become King when Thráin goes to Dûmu Itdên; equally when it is _your_ time to join your father and grandfather at His table your son will become King after you. We must ensure that the royal line of Durin is secured. And for that, Thorin, you will need a consort, who will have the most honorable task to carry your child. Just like I carried you for your father." She kisses his thick locks as Thorin looks at her with horror written across his face. “Don’t worry about it for now, little prince. It will be a long time before that day comes. And you will find a fine princess to be your consort long before then.”  

Thorin feels like he's tossing and turning as the forgotten memory from so very long ago returns to him. In truth his physical form has not stirred, still as silent and stone-like as he has been since the moment he collapsed at the Midsummer Fest. But inside his mind is churning at speed, reliving this and other memories …

 _Kíli_.

His mother was wrong. He does not need a consort to carry his child. The only dwarrow he will ever need at his side and in his bed is Kíli,  the one who Mahal made for him. His mother could not have known, his parents were never in love like he and his prince are. Their relationship was a contract, an arrangement with mutual benefits for both parties and their bloodlines. Much of the courtship that dams and bucks engaged in was about that as much as it was about pleasure. If a prominent dam was in season the offers at the festivals would be ample and equally she would seek to mate with the strongest or the richest or the most influential buck. Relations were as much about politics as anything else in life. It was very rarely about love.

But his bloodline lay secured already. And for him Mahal had other plans.

Beautiful, loyal, sweet Kíli. He can picture him now, his radiant smile that lights up even the darkest of days, his cheerful laughter that makes Thorin laugh too like he has never laughed before. Mahal truly made him the perfect consort, even if he will never carry his child.

It does not matter. The foretellings are clear. And it all makes sense now.

***

Lord Suthri strokes his hand over his long beard as he considers the information that Uzrak Sviór had told him. He had not had the opportunity to catch up with his ambassador due to the Midsummer Fest activities, but now that he has heard about the happenings in the Northern Halls from the dwarf who carries his voice at Thorin’s court he is more than interested.

“So, you are saying that Uzbad Thorin has gone mad? Possessed you say?”  he says slowly. He exchanges a meaningful glance with Hórth.

“Aye, Zabadê _,”_ Sviór nods eagerly. “I saw it with my own eyes! He attacked Kehnar Gorm and then he fell to the floor thrashing his arms and legs about. I looked after his Venerable Lordship, Zabad Suthri, as he recovered from the attack. And he told me then. He had seen it before, he said. It is an evil, he said.”

Of course Sviór does not know yet what had come to pass shortly after he had left Thorin’s court to travel south. How the situation had escalated so dramatically and just how ill Thorin has become. But his lord is quite grateful for what information he has given him. “Thank you, Uzrak Sviór,” Suthri nods. “You have done your duties well and you may now take your leave and enjoy the rewards of your assignment.”

The other dwarf bows deeply and gratefully leaves the grand throne room to enjoy the indulgences of the alehouse and some welcome company.

 “Well well,” Suthri turns to his advisor, twisting the thick golden rings around his fingers. “It appears our King really has lost his mind this time.”

“Do you really think he is possessed?” Hórth asks nervously.

Suthri shrugs. “Gorm is well known for his dramatics. But it matters not. Whether he is possessed or just mad, he is not fit to rule.”

“No, no, clearly he is not,” Hórth is quick to agree with his lord. He holds no love for Thorin or for the House of Durin. Ever since Thorin appointed Lord Suthri to rule the Southern Mountains he had been grateful for the steer of his lord in the true lore and culture of the dwarves – something that the dwarves of the Northern Mountains appear to have forgotten. Thorin’s laws are weak, allowing thieves to keep their hands and allowing dams to openly court bucks during the festivals.   Indeed, their females are even allowed to work in male professions and practice weapon craft. And Thorin allows the lowest of ranks to dine amongst the elite – what a truly unappetising thought that is! At least Suthri reminded his people how they were supposed to abide by the laws of Mahal, living like good dwarrow folk. It was no wonder that the Kehnar remains in the Northern Mountains. The poor Highpriest no doubt has his hands full trying to steer the deluded Farakân back onto the righteous path.

And now finally King Thorin has been shown for what he truly is – a mad King, mad like his father and grandfather before him.

“We must send aid to Kehnar Gorm,” Suthri states as he gets to his feet and walks to the great altar in the corner of his private audience room. “Thorin must be challenged. We cannot allow Ubjab to lead our people or he will doom us all! Mahal will be sure to strike his mighty hammer at us for his insolence!” He pulls his offering knife across his hand and lets the blood slowly pool inside the bowl.

Hórth’s eyes bulge in fright. “No! Please, Zabadê, you must save us from such a fate.”

Suthri turns back with a stoic smirk, opening his hand to show the cut he had made in honour of Mahal. “Do not worry, master Hórth. We are not lost yet. But we need to act fast. Mahal is forgiving of our sins if we show Him our true devotion. If Thorin has led our brethren of the North astray then it is our duty to save them and return them to the righteous path. With Kehnar’s wisdom to guide us.”

“Aye, Zabadê,” Hórth nods, eternally grateful for his lord’s wisdom. But he has a thought. “And how do we do that? Thorin is protected by sovereign immunity …”

“So he is,” Suthri nods. He considers his options, proudly stroking his beard once more – another symbol of their people that Thorin has disregarded! “Then we must find a way to show his people that Thorin holds no regard for Mahal’s laws.”

“And if he does not admit to his failings? If he does not stand down voluntarily …?”

Lord Suthri turns to his trusted advisor, but even then lowers his voice as what he is about to say could easily cost him his head. “Then we will have to find another way to displace him. We cannot allow our Northern brethren to suffer the wrath of Our Lord because of the madness that runs through the royal blood of Durin.”

Hórth’s eyes grow wide, but he nods and bows deeply before his lord, before he is dismissed.

Suthri smirks to himself as soon as he is alone. _Now my time has come, brother. And I will claim what is mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> irak’adad - uncle (lit. side-father)  
> Akhminruki astî - Thank you greatly (female form)  
> madhulyasâth - soulmates (blessed mates)  
> Zabadu Dehar - Lord of the Anvil  
> ’Amad - mother  
> khazdith - dwarfling  
> dashatê - my son  
> ‘adad - father  
> Zebdar - Highking, the one who possesses the Arkenstone  
> Kamin - Earth  
> Dûmu Itdên - Halls of Waiting  
> Uzrak - master  
> Farakân - dwarves of the Northern Blue Moutains  
> Ubjab - a heretic (lit. chooser)


	36. Confessions

“My mother is here?!” Kíli repeats incredulously. He has never known Dís to leave Thorin’s Halls. None of the dams do. He had never really questioned why; it was just the way things were. With all honesty not many of the dwarves left the safety of the halls unless it was out of necessity to earn a living by selling wares to the human settlements or to visit kin in the Southern Mountains or, rarely, the Iron Mountains.  “Why?!”

The elvish messenger bows apologetically. “I do not know, my lord. You are requested to meet her at North Haven.”

Kíli nods and watches the elfling leave as his forehead wrinkles into a frown. He really wishes things were not so terribly awkward between him and Skírvir right now as he could really do with talking to someone. He feels confused and also worried. If he is ordered to come back home, why has Thorin not sent a messenger? Or even Fíli? He feels his heart pound in his chest as he churns over all the possible reasons why his mother would have come all that way to speak to him. Has something happened to Fíli? It is the only possible reason he can think of that would justify such a visit and he feels sick at the thought of it as he races towards his guard’s chamber next door and bangs on the door.

Skirvír takes his time to answer. He has not yet forgiven his prince for the embarrassment he had caused him. “Yes, my lord?” he answers politely but coolly.  

“Skirvír, my mother has arrived in Thafarsilafîn. Inform Vrar. We are travelling to the Northern Haven right now.”

Despite doing his best to come across as cool and professional as possible even the broad dwarf is startled by the announcement that the Princess has come to the elvish town. And he quickly nods to his lordship and runs to tell their travel companion.  

***

“’Amad?!” Kíli pants as he flies through the door to the private chamber he has been led to by the elvish messenger.

Dís turns around and smiles at her son. Immediately she notices he has changed. He is still as untamed as ever as he bursts in through the door without knocking. And yet he looks so much more mature and world-wise than the naïve dwarf that had been sent away by his uncle nearly four months ago. She opens her arms and wraps them tight around her son as he falls into her arms, resting her head against his chest as he now towers over her. For that brief moment all there is in the world is the comforting embrace of a mother and her son.

But then Kíli pulls away and puts his hands on his mother’s shoulders, looking at her with a serious frown across his face that she has never seen before. “Why are you here, ‘amad? Is Fíli alright?”

Dís is momentarily confused by the second question. “Fíli? Yes, yes he is absolutely fine, do not worry about your brother,” she tries to give Kíli a reassuring smile.

“Then why?” Kíli presses, seeing something in her eyes that makes the blood in his veins run cold. Before his mother has a chance to reply realisation dawns on him. “Thorin!” he gasps. “It is Thorin!”

Dís grasps his hands, squeezing them as she speaks, “Kíli, Thorin has fallen ill.”

Kíli feels his legs give way. Dwarves do not fall ill like the men of the valley do. They do not suffer with colds or flu or other such ailments. “What sort of ill?” he asks, feeling his whole body starting to tremble, including his voice.

Dís guides her son to one of the chairs, forcing him to sit down before he falls over. “We are not sure,” she answers honestly.

“What do you mean?!” Kíli snaps. “How can you not be sure? What ails him?!”

Dís takes a seat next to her son and grabs his hands again. “First we knew he started to have these … delusions. He … he thought Fíli was you.” Kíli frowns, but his mother’s warning look tells him not to interrupt whilst she explains. “Then he began to have blackouts. During the last Council meeting he …” she looks at the blind wall, looking for words that will explain but not frighten Kíli, but not succeeding.

“He what?!” Kíli urges her on as she fails to continue.

“He collapsed. He fell to the floor and began shaking.”

“Oh Mahal,” Kíli gasps. All colour has now drained from his face.

“He came round,” his mother quickly proceeds. "Oín checked him over, but he could not find anything wrong other than that he was tired. He has worried about you, Kíli,” she throws him a half-smile.

Kíli feels himself flush as he realises he never thought about that. He had missed Thorin like crazy, but he had maintained the thought that Thorin was glad he was out from under his feet. Now he feels guilty that he may have caused his lover undue stress due to his prolonged absence. “I … I am sorry,” he whispers.

But his mother runs a hand through his scruffy hair. “It is not your fault, kark mim,” she smiles.

“There is more,” Kíli reads into the silence that follows. His heart is pounding wildly as a thousand thoughts, each more worrying than the previous, bounce around in his head.

“Aye,” Dís nods regretfully. “During the opening feast of Zudraibrizamrâg Thorin had a heated exchange with Gorm.”

“Gorm?” Kíli exclaims in surprise. He knows his uncle has no love for the Highpriest – he finds him arrogant and the priest frequently oversteps the boundaries of his authority. But Gorm does hold a very influential position in their society and Thorin knows this and he also knows how to play the political game. Kíli feels a dread fill him up as he watches his mother’s pained expression. “Why? What happened?”  

“He blacked out again, Kíli,” she says softly, massaging his hands in hers. “And since then …” she takes a shallow, hitched breath, “… he has not awoken.”

“But Zudraibrizamrâg began over two weeks ago!” Kíli gasps, feeling his chest contract as his anxiety rises.

“It did,” Dís says softly.

“He’s dead!” Kíli sobs.

And Dís grabs him in his arms. “No, Kíli, no, he is alive! I promise you he was alive when I left his Halls. His eyes are open, he is breathing. But he does not respond. It is as if he is asleep, dreaming with open eyes, and no-one can awake him. That is why I am here, Kíli. You are mahdulyasth-hu. You must come back with me. Perhaps when he hears your voice …” She withholds to add that if Thorin does not wake up he at least needs to be there to say goodbye.

“I can’t …” Kíli shakes his head. “I cannot go back to Thorin.”

Dís looks at him in confusion. “What? Why not?”

Suddenly Kíli can feel himself flare. “You full well know why not!” he finds himself raising his voice at this mother for the first time in his life. “You!” he points an accusing finger at her as he jumps to his feet. “You have lied to me all my life! You have lied to all of us, including Thorin! How can I face him now? How can I be mahdulyasth-hu when the blood of the enemy runs through my veins?! How could you have done that, mother? How could you have sold your honour like that?!”

Dís can feel her heart shatter as she watches her son recoil from her in horror. “Kíli, please …” she tries.

“How could you not tell me?!” Kíli finds himself shouting now. “Don’t you think I had a right to know?!”

“Kun,” his mother says quietly. “You did. And I regret I did not, Kíli. But I did not know how to. I tried to protect you. If Thorin found out …”  

“If Thorin _finds_ out he will have me exiled! If not executed!” 

“No! No, he would not do that now,” Dís says, feeling quite sure. “I feared so when you were a babe. But now … Tamralizu, Kíli. He has accepted you as his One against all rules and laws.” She sighs. “And anyway, he needs not know.”

Kíli snorts. “So he condemns me to a life without love. And you condemn me to a life of shame and secrets.” He can feel himself numb under the weight of all of it. “And what is there left for me to decide, ‘amad?”

The dwarven princess looks at him with a deep sadness. “Your father had a good heart," she says, trying to explain her actions. “He was an elf, yes, but with a good heart."

“Was?” Kíli stills. “So that bit is true? My father is dead?”

“No! Well, I do not know. We have not had any contact for forty years. I wondered if you had met him here, since you found out about him ...”

Kíli shakes his head at that. “If I have he did not reveal that to me. It was Istiel who told me. She works in the royal library and has helped me with my research,” he explains. "Everyone seemed to, everyone but me! Even Lord Nowe does!"

“He is his kin. His great-great-grandson. You are of royal blood, Kíli, both dwarvish and elvish.”

Kíli sits himself down again, lost in the tidal wave of so many emotions. “The elves say it is an honour to be the child of two races …” he says softly.

Dís reaches out for her son, and softly brushes his beard stubble. “Mahal must have thought it so too,” she smiles carefully. “If he made you Thorin’s blessing …”

“Thorin …” Kíli’s wild eyes flick up to his mother again.

"You must go to him, my son. It is my belief that only you can bring him back from his darkness." When Kíli hesitates she adds, "You are of age now. The choice is yours whether to tell him the truth. I never kept it from him because I was ashamed. I only wanted my brother to treat you as he treated Fíli, without any prejudice." She smiles at her handsome son. "And now look how you have captured his heart.” She takes his hands again. “I knew love once, dashatê, and I let it slip away from me. Do not make my mistake, Kíli. Follow your heart. He needs you.”

“Y-you are right! If it is Mahal’s wish …” Already he is on his feet again. “Thank you, ‘amad!” He kisses her brow and before Dís is able to say anything else her son is already out of the door, as quickly as he had entered. She sighs, resting herself back against the tall back of the chair.

Suddenly the door flies open again. “What is his name?”

“What?” she looks up startled.

“My father. What is his name?”

“Sadrondor,” Dís smiles. Even the name stirs a fondness in her chest. “It means _faithful brother_.”

“You must stay. And find him,” Kíli nods curtly. And then he is gone again, leaving Dís with her own whirlwind of emotions.  

***

“Kíli, what is going on?”

“We’re leaving. You and I. Now!”

Skirvír stares after his prince. Just a couple of hours ago he had dragged him out of his room to go and meet Lady Dís and now they are already leaving again? “Ehm, leaving for where?” he asks, a little unsurely. He can only assume that Kíli has fallen out with his mother and that they are heading back to the southern harbour again.

“Home. We’re going home. My mother is staying here for the moment, but we have got to go home. Immediately.”

Skirvír barely stifles the sigh of relief at that news and he has a hard time not to first-bump the air. The only reason he had wanted to come here was to be around Kíli and now that he had embarrassed himself and had been given the cold shoulder the elves and their strange habits were getting under his skin. _Home!_ With proper beer and food and friends again. And he could find himself a mate to take his mind off Kíli for a while. He actually finds himself grinning widely. “Do we travel straight from here?”

“Yes,” Kíli says curtly as grabs his backpack. “Vrar and Dís’ company can bring the rest of our belongings.” Then he has a thought. _The scrolls!! Damn it!_ “Actually no.” He wants nothing more than to leave right away, but after everything he cannot leave the scrolls behind now. “I have to go back to collect something important first.”

Skirvír groans softly, but nods. “Let’s go then,” he sighs. Still, if they hurry they can still set off later today. And with only the two of them they will not need to stop much on the way. He could be home and sleeping in his own bed in just a few days’ time.

***

When they eventually reach the foot of the northern mountain range the sun has already sunk behind the horizon.

“I suggest we set up camp for tonight,” Kíli states. If he was alone he would probably ride on until he fell off his horse but he has a duty of care towards his guard and it would be irresponsible to ride on as tired as they are.  

Skirvír dismounts quickly. He had started to struggle to keep his eyes open about an hour ago and he thinks if he doesn’t keep busy he may just fall asleep standing upright. He takes Kíli’s horse too after his prince has dismounted and tethers both animals whilst Kíli begins to gather some firewood.

Most of their journey had passed in awkward silence. And Skirvír wonders how they are going to survive the rest of the journey like that. Still, only a day and a half or so to bite his tongue. And then they will be back at Thorin’s Halls … where Kíli’s suitor is … He frowns at that thought. He had spent days going over every dwarrow he knew, wondering if he or she was the one who Kíli favoured over him.

“It’s too late to hunt,” Kíli drags him from his thoughts. Skirvír had unsaddled the horses and had been brushing them down. As he turns around his prince has a cosy campfire going. “I brought some cheese and wine.” Kíli holds out the wrapped soft cheese that he had managed to grab before they set off in their rush. “It is not much …”  

“Thanks,” Skirvír manages a smile as he sits down opposite Kíli, taking the offering. He is absolutely starving, but he won’t give voice to his complaints lest Kíli thinks he is just a burden.

Kíli chews the sour cheese slowly. His mind is so full of worry that it is making him feel physically ill, but he knows he cannot ride another full day without eating anything.

The silence between them is driving him equally crazy. For a while he had welcomed it, being left alone with his own thoughts. But now that tension is just adding to his anxiety.

“Skirvír,” he coughs, clearing his throat.

“Kun, zabadê?” the other looks up, ready to carry out whatever order will come from his lord.

“About what happened … between us …” Kíli bites his lip, then takes another swig from the wine bottle.                        

Skirvír feels himself flush. He had not seen that coming and he really would rather not be reminded of his stupidity right now. “I regret if I offended you,” he mutters. “I did not know …”

“No,” Kíli waves his hand, handing Skirvír the bottle. “I am not offended. Of course not. I … I want to explain.”

His guard looks suspiciously at him. “Alright …”

Kíli takes a very deep breath. He knows he should not talk about this. What is between him and Thorin is a secret. He had sworn to keep it so and had never told another soul. Anybody who knew about them – his mother, Balin, Dwalin and of course his brother – had found out by accident or Thorin had told them. But with so much worry weighing down on him right now he just has to share his burden. And ultimately he trusts Skirvír, as his guard, with his life. This dwarf knows him more intimately than any other who is not related to him. Besides, the scrolls have taught him there is nothing wrong with loving his uncle. This is Mahal’s blessing; he should be proud to announce it!

“It’s Thorin,” he blurts out. He raises his eyes and finds his guard blink back at him, not understanding.

“Ehm … _what_ is Thorin?”

Kíli begins to lose his nerve as his guard does not immediately get his meaning. “Thorin …” He swallows hard. “He’s ill. That is why my mother came to Thafarsilafîn. Thorin has fallen very ill.” Kíli cannot help take the conversation in another direction, his nerve failing him now, stalling for time.

“Ill?” Skirvír frowns. Their people do not fall ill! “What sort of ill?”

“She does not know. No-one knows. Apparently he … She said it’s like he is asleep but no-one can wake him.” _Damn, Kíli!_   

Skirvír does not know how to respond to that. “That … that does not sound good,” he says awkwardly. But he too is worried now. _The king has fallen ill? Who is in charge back home now?_

“I am so worried about him!” Kíli suddenly gasps, unable to hold back his emotions much longer. “Amrali hu.”

They both freeze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

“You … WHAT?!” Skirvír feels his jaw drop to the ground and he drops the wine bottle in shock.

“I love him. He is mahdulyasthûn.”

For a moment Skirvír is utterly lost for words. “But that’s …” He shakes his head, dragging his hand across his beard. “He can’t be. He … He is your _uncle!”_   He looks at the prince with a combination of shock and disbelief.

“Yes, he is. But it is not wrong! That is why I went back to Thafarsilafîn. These scrolls … Istiel helped me translate them. And it explains that our laws were changed during the Great War. But before that relatives were allowed to court one another. In fact …” he rambles on, desperately wanting Skirvír to understand. He needs to explain this right, not just to convince Skirvír but to convince every dwarrow on Kamin of their right to love each other. “In fact, the lore is wrong. Father Durin, he did have a blessed mate, like all the other Clan Fathers. Her name was Lofn. And she was his sister. Mahal thought it was the strongest love of all, he did.” He abruptly stops talking, running out of breath and nervously awaiting Skirvír’s reaction.

“You … He … _What?!”_ Skirvír shakes his head. He grabs for the bottle of wine again and takes a large swig. He blinks hard, wondering just how tired he really is and whether he is already dreaming. “Ye’re saying … You and Thorin … You are like … Courting?!”

Kíli nods, wondering if he has made a terrible mistake telling Skirvír all this or not. But if he cannot tell Skirvír, then he has no hope of convincing the Council … Or Gorm!

“Blimey …” Skirvír swallows hard, taking another swig. “When you said there was another …” _THORIN?! Uzbad Thorin II, Heir to Zebdar’egam?! DAMN!_

“I could not tell you before. But now that I know that Mahal has really blessed us …”

“How do you know?” Skirvír asks, still utterly baffled by Kíli’s revelation, but nonetheless a little curious too. After all, _mahdulyasâth_ … It is the greatest honour and one that is normally only bestowed on much older dwarves who have already proven their worth to Mahal.

And so Kíli, feeling a little relieved that Skirvír at least has not run away from him in disgust, tells his guard and friend about the fire ritual and Thorin’s dreams and even about Kaminzabdûna and by the time he has finished his eyes are dreamy and Skirvír’s are wide as dishes.  

“Mi targê …” Skirvír mumbles.

Kíli stares into the fire, not sure what else to say next. On the one hand he feels enormously relieved to have shared this big secret with someone. On the other talking about Thorin has increased his anxiety tenfold.

“I’ll take first watch,” Skirvír breaks the silence.

Kíli looks up. He wants to argue; he knows he won’t sleep until he knows that Thorin will be alright and Skirvír had looked much more tired than he in any case. But then he nods. He really cannot be bothered having a debate and they will change watch later on so it hardly matters who goes first. “Very well. Good night.” He gets up to grab his bedroll. “And ehm … thank you. For listening.” _And understanding … I hope!_

Skirvír nods but does not answer. He watches as Kíli shrugs himself into the bedroll from the corner of his eye and then returns his gaze to the fire in front of him.

 _Thorin! Thorin is the one who Kíli favours over him!_ He wants to rage about it, wants to throw something. But he does neither, just sits and stares, chewing the inside of his cheek, taking another swig from the bottle of elvish wine.

He had had so many ideas of how to best win Kíli’s heart. Of making himself look more favourable – his trustworthy guard, tentative listener, sparring partner – compared to whoever Kíli thought was a more suitable bedpartner. He had also thought about ways he could paint his rival in a less favourable light. Making the other trip over, somehow. Show them to betray Kíli’s trust. There were ways, of course!  

But not now. Now all his hopes and dreams are shattered in one easy swoop. _Thorin_. Not only is Thorin the most desirable of all dwarrow - their King, their warlord, bravest of warriors and direct descendant of the line of Durin – but if he is Kíli’s soulmate than the prince’s heart is forever bound to him, in life and in death.

No! Mahal would never allow such an abomination. To sleep with one’s side-father … He knows what Kíli had said about the lore, but it was an _elf_ who had translated those texts for him. Why would an elf know more about their sacred lore than the dwarven Kehnar?! No, this was all a scam. This was the elves playing evil tricks with his people, trying to undermine the Temple of Durin, undermine their sacred laws.

And Kíli and Thorin … If they are truly courting, as the prince has suggested … He scowls over at where Kíli is curled up into his bedroll. _Ufyal!_ He has had a lucky escape really, when he thinks about that. The prince is an incestuous insult to Mahal. And Thorin … How dare he preach to them about honour and abiding the law when he lays with his own kin?

 _How long have they been doing it?_ he wonders with morbid curiosity. _And who else knows?_

He sighs. Surely the best thing to do is just to forget about Kíli. There are plenty other dwarves that stir his interest and that would want to share a bed with him. For a start there is the prince’s brother. Fíli has quite the reputation and he is of a higher standing than Kíli too. Handsome and heir to the throne. A fine dwarf indeed.  

_But he is not Kíli._

He looks over at Kíli again, wondering why he feels so besotted with the youngest Durin. It is almost as if the fact that he has become even more unattainable has also made him even more attractive.

He balls his fists in rage. At himself. At Kíli. At the elves!

Eventually he stomps over and roughly shakes the prince awake. “Changing watch,” he grumbles.

Kíli yawns and nods. He must have drifted off after all, despite all his worries.

Before his eyes have focused Skirvír has already rolled himself into his bedroll on the other side of the campfire, his back turned to Kíli. And as Kíli rolls up his bedding he wonders once more if telling Skirvír the truth has repaired the damage done before or only salted the wound even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kark mim – little raven  
> mahdulyasth-hu – his soulmate  
> tamralizu – he loves you  
> dashatê – my son  
> Ufyal - sinner


	37. Remedy

Before anyone has a chance to stop him Kíli bursts through the door and throws himself onto the bed, not even taking notice of Dwalin, who is on watch duty.

After his initial alarm the older dwarf breathes a sigh of relief when he realises Kíli has returned.

"I er … will be just outside if ya need me," he says quietly before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. There he finds his brother looking up at him with great concerns painted across his brow. No words need be spoken between them. They both know that this is their last and only hope. If Kíli cannot wake Thorin from his stupor, then who can?

"Thorin!" Kíli sobs as he wraps his arms around his beloved. "Thorin, what's happened to you?! Wake up! Please wake up!" he buries his face in Thorin's thick hair, wrapping his fingers around the royal braids like he used to when he was khazdith and Thorin used to carry him around everywhere. He had tried to imagine what it would be like to return to Thorin being like this, yet not even his worst nightmares had prepared him for actually seeing his One as if he’s on his deathbed.

He lets his tears run into Thorin's tunic, resting his head on his uncle’s chest as he sobs quietly.

"Please wake up, Thorin. Please. I need you!"

But there is nothing, not a stirring, not a blink of those staring eyes. Just utter stillness.

"Please..." He feels a physical ache inside his chest at the thought of what he may have lost.

But just as he is beginning to lose hope since Thorin does not appear to even know that he is here, let alone respond to him, a sound forms inside his head. Two syllables, clear as if someone had just spoken them. And he instantly _knows._

In one last desperate attempt he repeats Thorin’s true name out loud; that most sacred and powerful of all names, the very embodiment of the soul, reaching out to his lover’s inner core to bring him back to the surface.

He freezes as he can suddenly feel Thorin's chest rise up as his lover takes a deep intake of breath.

"Thorin?!" Kíli’s head snaps up and he stares into his beloved's face, hopeful. Thorin looks as still as he did before, his eyes still staring blankly, his lips unmoving. But Kíli is confident now as he whispers his lover’s true name again, almost feeling the weight and power of it on his tongue. “Amrâlimê." He cups Thorin's cheeks in the palm of his hand, feeling the soft brush of his beard. "I am so sorry."

"Why?"

It is barely more than a rasped breath, but Kíli knows he's heard it and his eyes blow wide open. "You're there! Thorin! Please look at me!"

More silence, but Kíli knows now that Thorin is just below the surface. Like an otter trying to claw its way out of a frozen lake. He just needs to find a way to break through the ice. And Kíli is not going to let go now of that tiny sign of life.

If there is one thing he's learnt from his uncle over the years, it is not to go soft. He straddles his lover and grabs his face in both his hands. “Iklif hû, Thorin, ibkinumun!” he growls. “I know you are there! Don’t you dare leave me! I came back for you! Now you come back to me!”

He watches Thorin’s face carefully, looking out for even the smallest of changes. When nothing seems to happen he is about to collapse back onto him in sheer desperation, but suddenly there is a minor shift in Thorin’s widely dilated pupils as they appear to try and focus.

“Kun, Thorin!” he gasps encouragingly. “That is it, my love. Find your way back to me. I am here!” He presses a gentle but warm kiss on Thorin’s lips. “I am here. Amralizu!”

“Am … ra … li … zu … ya …”  

Kíli can see the lips moving now. Ever so slightly, like a statue cracking open and revealing a living form underneath. He can see Thorin’s eyes search for him now, confused but determined. And he clasps his mouth back onto Thorin’s, wishing to kiss life back into every cell of his body.

Every movement is tantalisingly slow. Thorin has become so weak from the weeks of frozen bed-rest. He can hear Kíli, but he sounds so far away. He can see his outline, but no matter how hard he tries he cannot focus his vision. But then he feels that familiar, soft warmth on his lips. A kiss of life. He can only compare the feeling like rays of sun falling onto a block of ice and melting away the cold hard surface to reveal whatever has been hidden underneath, preserved in its icy tomb. And as Kíli’s kiss deepens his senses ever so slowly return to him.

Taste. Scent. Touch.

It takes an incredible amount of effort and every inch of his focus not to slip back into the void again. It's as if his arms are weighed down by the weight of the mountain itself. But he is determined and he fights on against his own body’s unwillingness to return to all the hurt and the worry and the anger that have sent him into this state in the first place; hidden inside his own quiet peace, where no-one can reach him.

Kíli shudders as he feels the soft brush of fingers against his own. Tears run down his face and over Thorin’s as he grasps onto every small sign of life. He feels as if he is dragging Thorin back out of a ravine with but the thinnest and most fragile of ropes, scared that if he pulls too hard, if he is too hasty, that the rope will snap and Thorin will be sent tumbling into a darkness from which he will never awake.   

“Ki…li.”

This time the sound is more than just a breath. Two clearly defined syllables that he has heard spoken so many times over the years; often in reprimand but always with fondness. And lately with so much love.

“Kun, Thorin! Kun, it’s me!” He rests himself down on top of his love, burying his face against his neck as his hand searches for Thorin’s. He threads his fingers through his, feeling that large hand completely envelop his own.

They lie like this for what seems an eternity, just listening to each other’s breathing and beating of hearts – signs of life and signs of love.

A shiver runs down Kíli’s spine as Thorin's thumb slowly begins to stroke the back of his hand. And slowly, ever so slowly, the king’s frozen body begins to thaw as he shifts slightly.

“You … came … back,” Thorin finally states, his voice raw and croaky from lack of use, but now recognisable as his own. His eyes are clear and focused on Kíli’s now as his lover looks up at him. And a faint smile curls around his lips as with great effort he lifts his hand and strokes across Kíli’s face, running his thumb over those rosy lips. “Amrâlê … You came back … to me.”

Kíli beams and his lips brush Thorin’s again. “Of course I came back. I love you. I will always love you! I could never love another! I … I did not think you wanted me back though. That it would be too hard ...”  

A sadness flickers through Thorin’s eyes, but he holds Kíli’s gaze. “I … was wrong,” he sighs. “I wanted to … do … the right thing. For you ...” The words are still an effort, but his strength is beginning to flow back into his body. “Now I know, Kíli. You belong to me.” This time he initiates the kiss as he slowly pulls Kíli in closer, massaging those soft lips with his own chapped ones. A kiss that fuels his depleted body with a surge of energy.

“And you to me,” Kíli smiles, running his hands down his lover’s face. He presses one more lingering kiss on those lips that he has craved for so many months, before he says softly, “I must tell the others. They have been so worried about you, Thorin.”

Thorin grasps his hand before he can turn away. “In ... a moment,” he whispers softly. He knows that as soon as everyone knows that he is back amongst the living there will be a hype of activity again.  “Just … have this moment … with me, my love,” he smiles.

Kíli nods. "Are you alright? How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? 'Amad said you have been lying here like this since the start of Midsummer. What happened to you?"

Thorin takes a slow intake of breath but smiles at his lover doting on him. "I ... I don't really remember... I remember the festival..." He rubs a hand across his face. "Gorm ..."

"Let's talk about it later," Kíli jumps in, concerned that the memory of whatever disagreement they'd had would make Thorin worse again. "How are you now?"

"Confused. Exhausted. Like I've been trampled by a warg pack." Thorin smiles again. "But all the better for seeing you here."

Kíli snorts but smiles too, relieved that Thorin feels that way.  "Can I get you a drink?" Without waiting for an answer he grabs for the jug of water next to the bed and pours some in the cup beside it. He helps Thorin move up a little, bringing the cup to his lips as he supports his head.

"I can get used to this," Thorin grins once he's emptied the cup and Kíli fills another. "You pampering me."  

"Don't get any ideas, uncle," Kíli laughs, grateful that Thorin's sense of humour has returned. "Besides, you hate anyone fussing over you. I would get on your nerves in no time at all."

He helps Thorin finish the second cup and then crawls back onto the bed next to him.  

Thorin pulls Kíli back close, wrapping his tired, heavy limbs around his nephew. “How … did you know?” he asks.

“Know what?” Kíli murmurs against his chest, breathing in Thorin’s scent.

“Nakhrâmê. My true name. I heard you call me.”

“I … I don’t know. It just came to me.”

Thorin smiles a bright smile at him, looking at his young beloved with a blooming heart. “Mahal truly favours you, mahdulyusthê.”

Kíli smiles too. There is so much to say, so much to tell. But right now words seem meaningless compared to touch. He strokes his hand along Thorin’s beard again and then reverently traces the streaks of silver at his temples that were not there before. He had only been away four months, yet it feels more like four decades.

“You have changed,” Thorin smiles, pressing soft kisses in Kíli’s hair. “You seem so much older than when you were last here.”

Kíli chuckles. “As do you,” he says as he threads the silvery strands between his fingers. “But my heart is still the same,” he states firmly. “No matter how far away you send me, Thorin. To the end of Middle Earth you may. My heart still belongs to you. Forever.”  

“I know,” Thorin nods with a warmth inside his chest. “And mine to you.” He seeks Kíli’s lips again, slowly searching that warm heat with his tongue as they pull closer and pick up where their relationship had been put on hold so many months ago.

Kíli gives in to Thorin’s need for comfort and a confirmation of their love. He only realises quite how much he had missed the physical side of their relationship as Thorin stirs all those wonderful feelings inside of him again, of passion and desire. He can feel himself react immediately to the teasing of his tongue.

“I have missed this,” Thorin sighs as he pulls back a little to allow Kíli his breath.

“Me too,” Kíli grins. He wants more, he wants to feel every little bit of Thorin as close as he can possible have him, but he is afraid to be too forward. The last time they were together Thorin had told him they could never kiss again. He does not want to push his luck, does not want to push the boundaries that are already falling away again. This time he will let Thorin lead, let his elder set the pace, hoping that Thorin too feels that need that coils inside him. And he is rewarded when his lover’s hand slowly slides down his body, teasing over his hip until he brushes against the growing bulge in his breeches.

“You long for me still,” Thorin smiles.

Kíli groans very softly and showers his lover in heated kisses as he grinds his crotch against Thorin’s hand. “Of course I do!” he exclaims. “Every moment of every day and night! I have never longed for anything more in my life!”

“Prove it,” Thorin smirks, taking Kíli by surprise.

“You … you mean …” Kíli looks a little hesitantly at his older lover. “A-are you sure? You had said … And I don’t want to hurt …”

“I am not feeble. Prove it!” Thorin growls with a sudden passion.

Kíli is about to agree, driven by his desire, but then changes his mind. “No,” he states and moves himself a little away from his lover.

Thorin swallows thickly, having not expected that reply. “No? I … I see…” He makes to turn away his gaze. He should not be surprised. He had sent Kíli away, hurt his feelings. It will take time to repair things between them.

“I think _you_ should prove it,” Kíli says defiantly, putting his palm against Thorin’s chest. “I never gave you any cause to doubt my love for you. You were the one to deny me, to tell me that we could not be together and to send me away. So _you_ prove it!”

Thorin stares at his younger lover in surprise and then begins to softly chuckle. “You demand this of me?”

“I do,” Kíli states confidently, a cheeky grin appearing around his lips.

But Thorin can feel himself blush. “I want to … But I am not sure I can,” he acknowledges with embarrassment. His body does not yet seem to respond to all the right signals and he can barely lift up his arms let alone bear the weight of his entire body on them.

Kíli cocks his head and strokes his hand across Thorin’s beard and across his lips. He knows Dwalin is keeping guard at the door so they should be safe to do this. “We can make it work,” he says sweetly. “You stay as you are.” And slowly he begins to pull off his tunic.

Thorin just watches Kíli, quietly, lovingly as he strips himself naked. He traces his thick fingers slowly over Kíli’s skin, his chest, his nipples, down the thin line of hair that runs down to his belly button and beyond, until he wraps his hand gently around his prick. “You are so beautiful,” Thorin smiles as he begins to run his hand slowly up and down along his length, massaging him into an aching hardness. “Even more beautiful than I remembered you in my dreams.”

Kíli groans under the touch that he thought he may never feel again. He had not expected Thorin to wake up, let alone to forgive and forget this quickly. To find his lover desiring him like that again, wanting to do this again without any hesitation is beyond his most desperate prayers.

Thorin’s body is slow to react, but Kíli is patient with him. He pulls loose Thorin’s breeches and slides his hand inside to reveal his uncle’s thick sword. “Let me …” He gently pushes Thorin’s own hand away and pulls his semi-hardness against his own hard cock, rubbing them together in a steadfast rhythm.  “Does this feel nice?” he whispers softly.

“Yes,” Thorin answers huskily. He tries not to get frustrated with his aching body, with his inability to just take Kíli as he wants to, knowing that it will make the process even slower. Instead he focuses his attention on the lovely feeling of Kíli’s hand massaging his slowly growing erection as he runs his own hands over Kíli’s firm thighs until he is hard enough for Kíli’s liking.  

“Will you prepare me?” Kíli asks, a little flustered. They have only done this once before and although he remembers well how good it had felt the last time, he cannot help those little nervous flutters as he thinks about being stretched like that again.

“Of course,” Thorin smiles and he nods towards the bedside dresser. Kíli helps himself to the little flacon of oil Thorin had stored there and pushes Thorin onto his back, straddling him high across his chest. Thorin grins a cheeky grin at him as he presents his sleek cock to his face. He lets Kíli slick up his fingers before he slowly grabs hold of Kíli’s buttocks and begins to massage them, running his fingers tenderly over the crease between them. “Guide yourself,” he orders Kíli before he opens his mouth wide for him.

Kíli’s breath jumps as his cock twitches. Thorin had briefly kissed and licked him there before but never really taken him deep into his mouth. But Thorin pulls him in closer as Kíli grabs hold of his dick and presses it against Thorin’s tongue, shuddering against the soft warmth as Thorin wraps his lips around him. “Oh my,” he gasps as he temporarily closes his eyes and just concentrates on his lover’s tongue working slow circles around his tip. He opens them against when Thorin starts to pull him in by his hips in a steady rhythm, which he soon takes over, riding himself ever so slowly into Thorin’s mouth. “This feels so good, my love,” he sighs. These are all such delicious new sensations and he grasps hold of Thorin’s thick braids as he continues to push his hips back and forth.  

As Kíli finds a rhythm that works for the both of them, Thorin begins to play with his young lover’s backside, massaging his buttocks more firmly and pulling them slowly apart as he teases over the rumpled skin between them. He delights in the moans and hisses that Kíli utters as he presses against his entrance. Whatever has come to pass since Midwinter appears forgotten as they so easily fall back into the rhythm of their heated love for each other. In the back of his mind Thorin knows that in the space of hardly any time at all he has undone everything he had sworn to over the last five or so months. But if he needed any clearer sign that this is Mahal’s wish he would be a fool for sure. Kíli is his life force. Without it he will wither and die like a plant in the darkness.

“I need you,” he mutters around the tip of Kíli’s cock. He moves his hand now, to access Kíli from underneath, fondling his tight sack before he runs his thick oily finger up his taint and over his pucker again.

“Enter me,” Kíli groans under the teasing hand. “Please.”

Thorin takes his cock a little deeper into his mouth, enveloping most of his length now with that delicious heat as he simultaneously exerts pressure onto his folds and slides the tip of his finger inside.

Kíli whines softly as all those little nerve endings inside him are rubbed and touched and he leaks his excitement onto Thorin’s tongue. He pushes back against that finger, wanting to feel more.  “Please,” he begs shamelessly. “This has been too long, Thorin, don’t tease me. I need you too!”

Thorin lets him drop from his mouth as he kisses his abdomen and begins to prod him with more vigour. “You delicious dwarf,” he sighs deeply as Kíli wriggles around on his finger, his cock bouncing proudly on each thrust of his fingers. He watches Kíli’s expression as he slowly adds a second finger, stretching his lovely body a little further. “You open up beautifully,” he encourages. His own cock is finally playing the game and he gives Kíli a questioning look.

“I am ready,” Kíli smiles and he takes the flask of oil again.

Thorin makes attempt to change positions as he removes his fingers from Kíli’s heat, but Kíli pushes him back against the pillows. “Stay,” he smiles and leans forward to kiss him softly. “You guide me.”

“Alright,” Thorin nods, feeling the desire flutter through him.

Kíli shuffles himself down his body and reaches for his firm prick, lubricating him in sure, delicious strokes. Thorin groans softly as Kíli prepares him and then pushes his cockhead against his entrance. “Prove it to me,” he smiles again and Thorin nods and he tilts his pelvis and begins to push against Kíli’s pucker.

Kíli draws in a sharp breath as Thorin begins to slowly stretch him open. He reminds himself to relax into the feeling as he pushes back against the penetrating force, keeping his eyes trained on his lover’s beautiful blue eyes sparkling back at him with so much life again now. “I love you,” he whispers in complete awe as Thorin slides deeper into him, feeling him rub against his sensitive inner walls.

“My Kíli,” Thorin pants as he is gripped tightly by Kíli’s strong muscles and pleasure floods his body like a life force. “Amralizu yothur m’emak.” _I love you more than anything._

Kíli can feel a pure happiness explode inside his chest at Thorin’s declaration of love. He never thought he would hear him say those words again to him. He certainly never thought they would ever be doing this again, expressing their love in this wonderful physical way!

He begins to rock his hips back and forth, slowly at first but Thorin encourages him to speed up, with his large hands guiding his thighs.

“This is a … nice position …,” Thorin grins as he watches Kíli wriggle around his shaft, seeking to rub himself in the places that give him most pleasure. It requires very little effort from himself whilst his body is still weak. But it sure is pleasurable.

“It is!” Kíli is quick to agree and he yelps as he manages to stimulate his prostate with Thorin’s cock on the next downwards thrust. “Oh yes!” he gasps as he moves himself like that again and then flushes deeply from his neck and chest upwards as he can feel himself come undone without so much as touching himself.

Thorin is surprised as Kíli suddenly graces him with a flood of white hot seed when he next rolls his hips. Even more surprised is he by the delightful noises his keen lover utters as he does so, which sends his own arousal blazing like a forge.

Kíli slumps forward, pressing his hands flat on his chest as he thrusts himself down with increased energy. “Thorin … come,” he groans as he digs his fingernails into his lover’s chest, massaging his sticky seed into his skin.

He can feel the muscles in Kíli’s body contract around his hardness. For a moment he worries he might not have the strength yet to reach his peak. But then Kíli shifts and thrusts himself down again and effortlessly pulls his orgasm from him. His voice drops into a deep primal sound as he seeds himself inside Kíli, the ecstasy filling his body. Delight! Pure wonderful blessed delight. Like lightening striking every cell of his being giving his weakened body an extraordinary surge of energy.

He pulls Kíli forward and against his chest and seeks his mouth as his body tightens and then fully relaxes. He feels rejuvenated. Whether it is simply the act that has set his body on fire so, or whether Kíli truly has some divine hold over him, he does not know. But it does not matter, because the two came together. His beloved is back in his arms. And he knows he will not make the mistake of sending him away again.

“That felt wonderful,” he murmurs into Kíli’s sweaty hair. “Thank you for coming back to me, my beloved.”

Kíli smiles, just feeling the slowly dissipating heat from their bodies as he rests down in Thorin’s embrace, growing stronger by the moment.

They lie joint together for a short while, until Thorin softens and slips from Kíli’s body. The younger dwarf groans softly at the sensation and again as he feels the result of Thorin’s lovemaking seep down his backside.

“Enough proof?” Thorin sighs.

Kíli looks up, a little unsurely. “I don’t know,” he says honestly, voicing his own worries. “What does this mean, Thorin? For us?”

Thorin grabs his face firmly between his large hands and looks deep into his eyes. “It means that I have been a fool to hurt you. And I promise you, I will never deny you again.”

_Even if you knew I were a halfling?_ Kíli thinks to himself but he does not say it.

“Will you forgive me?” Thorin asks, as he can see the hesitation in Kíli’s eyes, although it is not for the reason he thinks.

“Yes,” Kíli croaks. “If you will have me back.”

“Mahal punished me harshly for my mistake,” Thorin says, quite sincerely. “You hold my heart, Kíli. No matter what. We will find a way,” he reassures.

_There is so much I must tell you. But not yet. You need to regain your strength. It can wait a few more days. All that matters now, is that you are alive and that you are getting better._ Kíli smiles softly, pressing one last kiss on Thorin’s lips. “I suppose I should get dressed and let the others know you are on the mend,” he blushes a little.

Thorin nods reluctantly, not wishing to let Kíli go just yet. But he knows he has a responsibility to his people. There is so much to do now, so much to fix and so much to decide still.

He pulls up his breeches, thinking these are still the ones he had worn on the day he had collapsed. Clearly other than the outer ceremonial robes no-one had dared to undress him. And he thinks he could really do with a bath and a decent meal. “Will you please get someone to bring me some food. I am starving.”

Kíli grins, glad that Thorin definitely seems to be on the mend. “I will have the best meal prepared for you. Do not worry. You just need to rest some more,” Kíli says sternly. “Too much activity for you already. You are not to leave this room until Oín has said you can.”

“Yes, Zebdarê,” Thorin sniggers at Kíli exerting his authority over him. But he knows his nephew is right and he is in no state to be walking around just yet. Nonetheless this _activity_ has done him a world of good. He feels better than he has done in months.  

***

“Thorin!”

Dwalin is the first to enter the room after Kíli has explained to him that he has awoken. On the one hand he's gobsmacked that Kíli had achieved within moments what the best healers had not in weeks. But on the other he is not surprised at all. Thorin and Kíli truly are meant to be together. It's as if Kíli is the keeper of Thorin's life force somehow.

The young prince had not lingered after he'd told him the news and in view of the time that had passed and the blush in his cheeks Dwalin can only assume the two had got reacquainted. Indeed, as he looks at his friend’s face he can read the truth from it clear as day. “So Kíli did have the special touch,” he smirks a dirty smirk. “Why if that’s what it took to wake ya, Oín had no chance!”

Thorin finds himself laughing out loud along with his friend.

“Thank Mahal the lad returned,” Dwalin says seriously though. “It’s good to have ya back, kharmê,” Dwalin clasps Thorin’s forearms and gently pushes his forehead against that of his friend. “No more silly business, from you, Oakenshield. At least now ya know ye cannot deny Mahal’s blessing.”

“No,” Thorin agrees. “And so I will no more. Kíli is my One. And I will deny it to no-one.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amrâlimê - Love of mine  
> Iklif hû, Thorin, ibkinumun - Damn it, Thorin, wake up!  
> Amralizu (ya) - I love you (too)  
> Amrâlê - my love  
> Nakhrâmê - my inner name, a dwarf's secret name  
> mahdulyusthê - my soulmate  
> Zebdarê - my Highking  
> kharmê - my brother (kinsman)


	38. Not According to Plan

“Kíli!”

Fíli’s eyes brim with happiness when he enters his chambers and finds his brother there, changing himself out of his travelling clothes. As the acting king he had been notified of Kíli’s arrival a short while ago but he had only just managed to escape the meeting he had been caught up in. Being king, he had found, was an awful lot about listening and talking for hours on end as everyone seemed to want to hear his opinion about everything at the moment.

“Fee!” Kíli jumps up and flies around his brother’s neck.

 “I had no idea you would be back today!” Fíli squeezes his brother tight.

“We travelled so fast, there was no point sending a messenger ahead,” Kíli explains as he too tightens his grip. “It’s really good to be back,” he breaths in the familiar scent of his brother which makes him feel instantly calm and comforted.

He takes a step back and looks his brother up and down. “You look … impressive!”

Fíli plucks a little awkwardly at the furs on his long robe. “I ehm … with Thorin being ill … Balin said I had to step in …” He is not sure why he feels so bad about that, as if he’d betrayed Thorin somehow; taking advantage of his illness so he could play king. It’s not like he wanted any of this!

But Kíli just smiles. “You make a fine king, brother. Thank you for taking care of matters whilst Thorin was ill.”

“H-how is he? I take it you’ve been to see him already …” Fili finds he’s scared to hear the answer. They had all pinned all their hopes on Kíli being able to do something – anything! – for the king.

But Kíli beams. “Of course I have! He is fine. He’s awake. And everything is good between us. _Very_ good,” he grins a cheeky grin.  

Fíli can see the heated blush in his brother’s face and his own features shift instantly from concern to relief to disbelief. “You didn’t! Mi targê, Kíli, you have been back what three hours?!”  

His brunet brother shrugs sheepishly. “It had been four months…!” he tries to defend himself.

Next thing he knows he lies on his back on the floor, with his brother on top. “What the …!”

His outcry is silenced as Fíli promptly punches him square in the face. “That! …” Fíli growls at his younger brother, “… is for not returning when you should have.” Another blow quickly follows the first. “And _that_ is for screwing Thorin before even seeing me when _I_ have spent months denying myself such pleasure for _your_ sake!!”

Kíli’s hand shoots to his bleeding nose and bruised cheek as he stares shocked and open-mouthed at his normally so placid brother.

“I have been worried sick!” Fíli continues to rant. “About you! About Thorin! Have you any idea what I have been through here whilst you have been feasting with the elves?! Me abrâfu rakhâs allâkhul!”

Kíli stares at his brother in and then begins to laugh at Fíli’s sour face. “I am sorry, Fee. I guess I deserved that.” He smirks as he pushes his brother off him and pulls out his kerchief to wipe away the blood. “Damn, you have a mean punch on you!”

Fíli huffs, pulling up his knees as he watches Kíli tidy himself up. “Missed you,” he growls softly.

“Yeah looks it,” Kíli sneers. “So what is this about you denying yourself pleasure anyway, big brother? That hardly sounds like the conquering crown prince I left behind so many months ago! Well, I am not even sorry,” he brushes himself off and gets to his feet. “I think some abstinence has probably done you good, binshalskhuzd!” he teases.

“Nimthurul me ra rukhs, zânami rukhs!” Fíli growls at his brother.

Kíli spits in laughter. “An orc? Is that what you are waiting to screw now, brother? You got bored with the choice here in Khagal’abbad, hm?” he chuckles.

Fíli swipes for his legs and tackles him to the floor again. “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Kíli laughs as his brother pommels his arms. “Well, come on then. Spill! Who else should I be apologising too?” he roars with laughter at his brother’s fire. And when Fíli turns a bright shade of red he curiously cocks his head. “Is it really that bad? Who is this creature who turns my sweet brother into such a violent beast?”

“Mahimdin gal’mêzu!” Fíli pretends to throttle him at that.

But he appears to have forgotten Kíli’s speed in the past few months and Kíli deftly moves out of his grip and rolls to pin Fíli down under him instead. “Like I was saying!” he laughs. “Well? Tell me!” He brings his face close to his brother’s. “You want me to play guess, do you? Alright then, buck or dam?”

“Buck,” Fíli mumbles as he refuses to look at his brother.

Kíli screws up his face for a moment as he considers his options. “Older?”

“Yes.”

“ _Much_ older?” Kíli says in a teasing tone as he runs his fingers tenderly over his brother’s beautiful braids.

“Let’s just say as old as the dwarf you are fucking,” Fíli snarls viciously at him, but then a cheeky smile appears around his lips.

“Ooooh, that’s interesting!” Kíli grins as he keeps Fíli pinned under his backside as he straddles his chest. He puts his forefinger against his stubbled chin in a pertinent gesture of being in deep thought. “Balin!” he cries out in an obvious tease.

Fíli chokes on his laughter. “No, but you are hot as dragon fire.”

Kíli’s eyes grow wide. “Mi Lagân, Dwalin! You are serious!” he utters as Fíli’s wide grin betrays him instantly. “Well, I be damned, brother, a fine choice indeed!”

“You … you mean it?” Fíli asks a little nervously. He has never felt like he needed his brother's sanction before, but for some reason this time he really wants to hear that Kíli approves of his choice. “It is more than just a one off … Not that we have yet … Because of you!!”

“Why in Mahal’s name did you wait for me?” Kíli asks, pushing himself off Fíli and pulling his brother up onto his feet also.

“Because we both felt guilty. Seeing you and Thorin in so much pain … And then Thorin fell so ill. Is he really going to be alright, Kee?”

“I think so. He is weakened but his heart beats strong! He was hungry when I left him, which has to be a good sign. Let’s go and see him together when I have freshened up, shall we?” He puts his arm around his brother who nods.

“Where is ‘amad?” Fíli asks as Kíli shrugs off his shirt.

“I did not want to be slowed down by her company. Skírvír and I travelled ahead.” He hesitates for a second whether to tell Fíli about his father yet, but decides to wait. He is not sure still how he feels about it all and he is worried how his brother might react to the news. There is plenty of time still. Right now he wants to be at Thorin’s side again more than anything else. “She will be here in a few days I expect.” He turns to his brother again and grins a wide grin. “And I love it that you are courting Dwalin!” he grins. “My dark warg of a brother! I bet he is a fine specimen between the sheets,” he winks.

“Khuzd muzum! _”_ Fíli pretends to be offended by his brother’s crudeness, but he grins a dirty smile as he thinks about the fact that all barriers have now been removed. “I will let you know,” he finishes the conversation with a wink too. “But first I will go and see Thorin.” He pulls his brother back into an embrace. “I did really miss you, Kee,” he whispers.

“And me you,” Kíli says earnestly. “And I am sorry for not being here. If I’d known about the goings on of course I would have returned sooner.” He feels quite frustrated and angry with himself now that he had not.

“I know. Just glad you are back now. There is much we have to catch up on.”

“That there is,” Kíli agrees.

***

“Thorin, I am so glad that you are awake!” Fíli embraces his uncle in relief.

“As am I, Fíli.” Thorin is sat in his favourite armchair, dressed in some fresh comfortable clothes and his fur mantle wrapped around his shoulders, despite the season.

Fíli looks at him with concern. He still looks a little frail and older somehow than he had appeared before, with his skin almost translucent so pale and his hands trembling ever so slightly. Yet the light that is now back in his eyes is strong and determined once again.

“Thank you for taking care of matters in my absence. Balin has told me how well you look after my affairs. You have made me very proud.” He smiles when Fíli shrugs a little awkwardly.

“I did my best, Thorin. But I am not ready yet,” the prince adds quickly. “I have so much to learn still. From you!” He takes his uncle’s hand and kisses his ring in respect. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hand the kingdom back to the rightful king!”

Thorin pulls Fíli back into another the embrace. “You have a good heart, my loyal nephew. Thank you also for caring for me,” he adds, running his fingers down his braids.

Fíli smiles as he sits down next to his uncle. “I just wanted to make you feel comfortable. Anything I could do for you … Did … Could you hear me? When you were … asleep?”

Thorin thinks about this. “Yes. I believe so.” It is difficult to distinguish between his dreams, his visions and what was real. But then he remembers Fíli telling him about the Midsummer Fest, about workings in the forge and about some of the decisions he had had to make about the developments and excavations of the Halls. “Yes,” he says with surety this time, “you kept me informed of everything that was going on. It was what kept me here, what prevented me from slipping even further into this … other world.” He looks at Fíli again, eyes full of love and gratefulness.

At hearing that Fíli feels a strong sense of pride swell inside him. Kíli may have brought Thorin back to the surface, but he had helped too. He had kept him there, close by, in readiness for Kíli’s return. He feels content in that knowledge, content that the many hours he had spent talking to the silent form of his uncle had not all been for nothing. “You’re welcome,” he mumbles shyly.

They both look up when Kíli walks in.

“Food will be here shortly,” the brunet prince states happily as he walks up to the two of them. Without hesitation he leans down and presses a tender kiss on Thorin’s lips hidden in his beard. He does not need to hide this from his brother. And soon, hopefully, they will not have to hide this from anybody anymore.  “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I am sure that in a few more days I will be back to my old self,” Thorin smiles as Kíli rests his head on his shoulder. “Thanks to the both of you. Thank Mahal for blessing me with the two of you.”

Kíli snorts, “I’ve heard you say otherwise,” he teases but then beams up into his lover’s face and steals another kiss from his lips. “We’re just happy you are back.”

“Indeed we are,” Fíli concurs with his brother and takes the liberty to rest his head against his uncle’s other shoulder also. For a moment twenty, thirty years vanish as they are khazdîth again, listening to their elder’s fantastical stories in front of the fire. Fíli thinks a little forlornly how simple life had seemed then. How being the crown prince just felt exciting and important and how his childlike mind had pictured himself sat on a throne one day covered in gold and jewels and handing out orders whilst everyone ran to his bidding. In truth being the king was hard work. Only now did he really understand the weight of responsibilities that Thorin carried on his shoulders every day. This feeling that the health and happiness of every dwarrow was somehow dependent on his decisions. That even with endless advisors at his side it was ultimately his call how disputes were settled. Suddenly he wonders if Thorin had ever condemned a dwarf to death. He feels fortunate that none of the incidents brought to his attention had been particularly severe. But seeing his brother and Thorin look at each other so lovingly he feels a shiver run down his spine. _If anyone had brought an accusation of incest to me, what would I have done? The law is clear ..._ He feels his blood run cold at that. Suddenly the threat seems more tangible than ever, now that he has wielded the sceptre of power himself. He pulls himself upright again and pulls out his pipe to settle his worries. _They cannot be together. If anyone finds out Thorin will be forced to stand down. And then YOU will have to decide over their fate!_

He looks to his brother and uncle, feeling the need to say something about how they are sat so close, but somehow finding himself unable to. Kíli has brought Thorin back. Surely that must mean something. They claim Mahal gave His blessing …

Just then there is a knock on the door and the two lovers spring apart as dinner is brought before them.

Both princes smile that Thorin is piling food onto his plate and is eating with strong appetite. Each mouthful of meat and each sip of ale appears to return a little more colour to his flesh, a little more strength to his muscles.

And they too tuck in hungrily. Fíli had hardly eaten anything over the last few weeks, both from worry and sheer lack of time. And Kíli is simply grateful to have a decent dwarven meal in front of him again after months of barley pearls and fish. “Now _this_ is food!” he praises with his mouthful.

At that Thorin narrows his eyes. “Why _did_ you stay with the elves? Why did you not return to my Halls for Zudraibrizamrâg as I had dictated?”

Fíli and Kíli exchange a glance and Kíli stills for a moment under the reprimanding stare of his lover and his king. Fíli shuffles uncomfortably, knowing full well that that very issue had caused Thorin to collapse. But before he is able to offer any mitigating words or steer the conversation into a different direction, Kíli responds, “I needed their help.”

“Help?” Thorin has stopped eating now and is glaring at Kíli across his plate. “Help with what?”

“Resolving a riddle for me. For us,” Kíli answers defiantly as he too puts his food down and holds Thorin’s stare. “Why does Mahal want us to be together when his own laws forbid our relationship?”

Thorin raises his eyebrows in surprise and then returns them to an even bigger frown. “And why,” he sneers, “would you seek the help from elves to answer such a question about _our_ lore?”

“Because none of our people know how to read to ancient runes anymore,” Kíli answers calmly. He is not fazed by Thorin’s mood and there is actually a part of him that feels quite defiant about this whole issue his uncle has with the elves now. The urge to reveal his own secret burns on his tongue, but he swallows it at the last moment. “The elves have taught me to read them.”

He reaches across to take his lover’s hand as he explains. “I have looked for answers ever since my fire ritual, Thorin. I read every scroll in the library that I thought would explain to me why Mahal put us in this position. But I found nothing. The only scrolls I could not read were those from the early Second and the First Age for they are written in a script that is now lost to us.” He smiles smugly. “Until now. And I have learnt there are some very interesting things in the old lore, Thorin. Things that we are now taught as original lore, but which were in fact changed in the late Second and early Third Age.”

“Such as?” Thorin asks, looking at his love with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue.

Kíli hesitates for a moment. He had wanted to tell Thorin in private first. But then his brother may as well hear it also. “Such as under Durin’s original law we would have been free to court, amrâlê,” he says, slowly as to make his point clear. “That it was not forbidden for first and second generation blood relatives to court or even marry. In fact …” he looks to his brother, before looking back at Thorin and then he lowers his voice, feeling still like a blasphemer even though he had read it himself, “… the old lore tells of Durin’s wife, who was laid in the stone with him.”

“What?!” Fíli exclaims.

“Durin had no wife, he was laid to the stone alone,” Thorin fills in stubbornly.

“Lu’,” Kíli states firmly. “King Durin III made the Kehnar change the lore when the corruptions of the Rings of Power turned the Clans against each other. He tried to strengthen their bonds by discouraging inter-family marriages and encouraging inter-clan courtships. But that is not the original lore. It says in the Ancient Scrolls that Mahal made fourteen dwarves, seven pairs. And that he made Durin and his wife Lofn out of a single stone, like a single womb. And as such he considered them brother and sister.”

A stunned, tense silence falls over the room. Kíli smiles at his lover, feeling triumphant that he had managed to find out the truth and a way to allow them to be together.

But his moment of happiness is quickly wiped off the table, when Thorin turns to him and says firmly, ”You can never repeat this to anyone.”

“What?” Kíli utters in shocked disbelief. “What do you mean? It is the truth!”

“Says who?” Thorin challenges. “The elves?”

“No! Well, yes! But …” Kíli can feel his cheeks begin to burn with annoyance. “It is the truth!” he repeats in frustration. “It says so in our Scrolls too!”

Thorin looks at his lover, his heart aching for him. Oh how he wants to believe Kíli. But it is not he who the prince is to convince. “And how will you convince anyone of this if no-one but you can read the old scripts? How will you, a barely-of-age lovesick dwarfling, convince the Highpriest that he has in fact been telling us lies all these years? On the back of what you have been taught by our enemies?”

Kíli jerks back his hand and flies from his chair. “I am NOT a lovesick dwarfling! What is the matter with you, Thorin? I finally find a way for us to be together and you dismiss it like some children’s tale?”

Thorin sighs and looks at his outraged lover whilst Fíli tries to get his brother to sit back down. “I may believe you … But that hardly matters. It is in my interest to believe you. It is in your interest to tell this tale. Tell me then, Kíli, how you will convince the likes of Dáin and Suthri of this _truth_ that will shatter the foundations of our existence? How will you tell the world that the dwarves do not even know their own lore?”

Kíli stares at Thorin, anger surging through him. But he knows Thorin is right. It is not him or Fíli he has to convince. “I … I don’t know …” he answers honestly.  He can feel tears well up in his eyes as he starts to realise just how little has been resolved still. “Everything was supposed to be alright now!” he says softly with a sob. “You promised you would not deny me anymore…”

“Kíli, look at me,” Thorin says softly and he pushes his lover’s chin up. “I do not deny you. But your words are dangerous. They are challenging the word of Mahal’s Highpriest and therefore Mahal himself. Without proof …”

“There is proof!” Kíli panics, seeing all his elation that he had felt since he first learnt about the real lore evaporate before him. “The Scrolls!”

“Kíli,” his brother jumps in, “you are the only one who can read the scrolls. Of course you will say that this is the truth as it allows you and Thorin to be together. You are not independent. You cannot be the one to say this, don’t you understand? You will be branded Ubjab!”

Kíli can’t stop the tears of desperation spilling down his cheeks as he stares helplessly at his kin. “Then how …?” he stifles another sob, knowing he is acting childish but after everything that they had all been through this could not have come like a bigger slap in the face for the young prince.

“The only way would be for a priest of the Temple to read the Ancient Scrolls themselves,” Thorin confirms his fears. “Only then will the Temple even consider the truth.”

“Then that is what we must do!” Kíli urges.

“And who would we entrust with such a task, Kíli?” Thorin asks softly. “Who within the Temple would be willing to travel to Thafarsilafîn, as you did, to uncover that which the Kehnar does not wish us to learn? Risking their own hide and ours?”

There is a moment of silence between the three of them as the brothers look at each other, as if they are reading each other’s mind. And simultaneously they state, “Ori!”

“Who is Ori?” Thorin asks, looking at his nephews.

“The Temple Scribe,” Fíli explains.

“Dori’s youngest brother,” Kíli adds.

Thorin slowly nods. He can’t really picture the scholar, but he remembers now that he is distantly related to him. “And he can be trusted?”

“Definitely,” Kíli smiles. “He already helped me to copy the old scrolls. He is honourable, uncle. And very clever. If we provide an escort, then he should be able to travel to Thafarsilafîn soon.”

Thorin screws up his face and Kíli knows he is battling with himself about sending another of his kin to the elves. “I need to talk to Balin,” he says eventually. Kíli already opens his mouth to argue but he silences him with a sharp move of his hand. “This is dangerous, Kíli. For all of us. I will not rush such a decision. For your sake as much as mine.”

Kíli lowers his head, knowing he needs to accept that and let Thorin handle the matter in a way he deems appropriate. He has done everything he can do and has reported his findings. Now it is out of his hands.  

“Tell me about Suthri,” Thorin changes the subject as he resumes his meal. “I thank you for your official reports, but I cannot help think that there were things left unspoken in them.”  

Kíli raises his eyes again, trying his best to move along to the next topic also, and he nods. “I felt that Lord Suthri and his advisors do not have the respect for the House of Durin that they should. I thought perhaps it was just me, uncle, because of my age. But some things did not sit right with me.”

“Then speak freely now, Kíli,” Thorin orders. “What matters concerned you during your station there?”

“Well …” Kíli rubs his stubble and then takes a sip of ale, before he says, “It was never openly said, Thorin, but the company all felt like the Farakân somehow consider themselves superior to their kin here in the North. As you know they live by very strict rules which govern every bit of their lives. And they believe those rules are the true laws of Durin.” He pushes his food around his plate, when he adds softly, “I have heard it spoken in whispers when they did not know I was listening.”

“Heard what?” Thorin presses, when Kíli hesitates.

Wary of Thorin’s temper, Kíli continues carefully, “They say that the House of Durin began to lose its way when King Thrór fell ill to the gold sickness. And that after the fall of Azsâlul'abad the old laws were forgotten or have been misinterpreted.” He looks closely at his elder. “This is just my personal interpretation of what was said, Thorin, you must realise this. But I felt that Suthri and his closests are stirring up a sense of fear amongst your people in the Southern Mountains. They say that your rule and your decrees fall short of Durin’s law and thus displease our Lord Mahal. That you will bring His wrath upon us if the tide is not turned. Just like Thrór did before you... ”

Thorin’s eyes have shifted into a darkness as he listens to his nephew. “If I displease Mahal so,” he snarls, “then why did he bless me with you _?_ ” he takes Kíli’s hand and presses a kiss on it.

“Well as by your own words, amrâlê, no-one will believe that is the case. I guess, unless Ori can convince Gorm,” Kíli sighs deeply as he puts two and two together, “Suthri would only see it as another confirmation that you have lost your way.” He swallows hard as reality is crashing back down hard on his previous hopes.  

“You know Suthri is just stirring.” Fíli watches the tenderness between his brother and uncle with a heavy heart, wishing there was something he could do for them. “You told me yourself that he had a dislike for Thráin and he has never agreed with you. He is just looking for anything that puts you in a bad light. And Gorm is more than happy to provide the arrows to his bow.”  

Thorin nods. It is as he had feared. Balin has warned him about his concerns over Suthri.   But for years he had been blind to what was happening in the Blue Mountains, with his focus taken up by the desire to return to their homeland. And until now he had managed to placate the other lord by allowing him a certain amount of sovereignty over the way he ruled the southern faction. He should have realised that one day it would no longer be enough.

Kíli gathers his courage as he bluntly asks, “Why do you even put up with him, Thorin? He’s only 'izbad. Why don’t you just remove him from his position if you don’t trust him? He sits there in that grandiose throne-room of his making out as if he is id-Zebdar! I think it is time you reminded him of his place.”  

When Thorin does not immediately respond, be it in agreement or disagreement of Kíli’s challenge, the two brother throw each other a confused glance.

“Kíli is right, uncle,” Fíli tries. “You are uzbadhu. If he challenges your rule, then displace him.”

“It’s not that simple,” Thorin answers, resting himself back in his chair.

“Why not?” Kíli frowns at his lover. It is not at all like Thorin to let someone walk over him like that, especially not someone like Suthri. “Because Gorm favours him? Well, that is even more reason to put him in his place. You may not have any authority over Gorm, but you can certainly remove his allies,” he states, quite proud of his strategic advice.

Thorin looks at Kíli. He knows that he is making some good points and he feels rather proud by how the assignment has clearly educated him well. But, “I cannot displace him like some 'izbad, for he is not. We had agreed that by me giving him the Southern Mountains to rule with relatively autonomy that he would forsake his claim.”

“What claim?” both brothers ask at once.

“To the throne.”

“What?!” Fíli spits out his ale as Kíli’s eyes grow wide.

Thorin takes a deep breath. “He is my half-brother. Thráin’s son.”

“What? But … How? How come no-one knows this?!” Kíli exclaims in total shock.

“Because he was not conceived with my mother, Thráin’s official consort.”

Thorin looks from his heir to his lover, seeing confusion written across their faces. “You have learnt about the many rules that concern dwarven courtship,” he sighs. “Since you each came of age. For now you are each free to court within those rules, for until you reach maturity around the age of seventy-five you are not able to impregnate a dam in season.” He turns to Fíli. “Trust me, when that happens courtship will become a lot complex. The lords of the clans will be falling over themselves to offer you their sisters and daughters.”

Fíli frowns at that and Thorin chuckles as he remembers a conversation from long ago with his own mother. “You will be required to choose a consort then. One honourable dam who will be the lucky dwarf to carry your children, subsequent heirs to the throne of Durin. Your choice would require approval from the Council of course. It is simply a contract. A way to secure our line and the future kingdom. My father, however, did not take those rules very seriously...” _Perhaps Suthri has a point with his accusations..._

“That’s outrageous!” Kíli utters.

But something seems to click with his brother. “That’s why Gorm asked you whether you had chosen a dam! Now that you are king, the rules state that you must have a consort to carry your children…”

“What?!” This time it is Kíli who nearly spits out his drink.

“It’s irrelevant,” Thorin tries to dismiss the argument. “I’ve already made it clear that I acknowledge you as my rightful heir. As I said to Gorm he is only trying to get me to bed his sister so that he has a link to the royal line. It is what he has always desired.”

“You have got to be kidding me! Gorm wants you to bed his sister?!” Kíli thinks his eyes might pop out of his head. “Well, that is certainly something my mother forgot to mention!”  

“The matter is closed,” Thorin reassures Kíli. “I will not bed her or anyone else for that matter.” He throws Kíli a sweet smile. “I will not betray our blessed binding, my beloved. You must have trust in that. Fíli is my heir.”

Kíli looks to his brother. “And did the Council accept your claim?”

“Ehm … well ... the meeting was called to an end prematurely … After Thorin became unwell …” Fíli says softly, lowering his eyes.

“Of course they accept his claim,” Thorin argues back. “Fíli has proven his worth for everyone to see in my absence. No-one would argue that.”

“Except Suthri,” Kíli points out.

Thorin sighs in frustration. “Yes, I guess except Suthri,” he is forced to acknowledge. “If he is looking for a way to dishonour me then I can only guess he wishes to claim the throne for himself.”

“But is he is not a legitimate heir …” Fíli argues.

“He is Thráin’s son. There are only the three of us that stand in his way to make that claim …”

“You mean …? He would not ..!” 

“I think this situation is more serious than I had given it credit before. As soon as Dís returns I will call an emergency meeting with my confidants. We need to be vigilant. And very careful who to trust. Even more so than before.” He rubs the back of Kíli’s hand. “We shall speak with Balin about the scrolls tomorrow,” he promises. “For now we must rest. There is much to be considered.”

The brothers both rise to their feet at that implied dismissal and turn to make their way back to their quarters, but Thorin stops Kíli, grasping his arm with an unexpected urgency as if he may fall back into his abyss if Kíli moves too far away from his side. “Stay with me.”

Kíli looks from Thorin to Fíli, unsure whether to honour Thorin’s request. He wants nothing more than to stay with him, but after their conversation just now …

“Uncle, is that wise?” Fíli says carefully. “If Suthri is looking for a way to dishonour you both …”

“Kíli will be my shield,” Thorin states. “And Dwalin yours.”

The brothers exchange a surprised glance, but Kíli soon beams. “That is perfect!” he exclaims. The king’s shield has the right to reside in the king’s adjacent chambers if there is any concern over his safety or well-being. He also has access to his chambers via a secret doorway to allow him to come to the sovereign’s immediate aid in case of a threat. He wonders why they had not thought of it before.  

“It was not my idea,” Thorin adds to their surprise. “It was your mother and Balin who made the suggestion.”

“I think it is a wise decision,” Fíli beams also, happy that at least some of their elders are coming round to the idea of Thorin and Kíli’s blessing. And of course it is rather fortunate for his own situation also.

Thorin grins at him, “Indeed. I shall inform Dwalin of his new duties. Zann galikh, Fíli.”

Fíli bows his head to his uncle and briefly clasps Kíli’s arms. “Good night, brother. We shall catch up tomorrow.”

Kíli watches his brother leave the room and then turns to Thorin. In a previous incarnation he would have flown around Thorin’s neck at that very moment. But after everything that had happened, everything they had discussed, he is a little more hesitant. “Shall I move my things into my new room then?” he checks, glancing at the side door.

“Tomorrow,” Thorin smiles however. He strokes back Kíli’s wild hair and kisses his lips softly. “Will you warm my bed tonight?”

A wide grin splits Kíli’s face. “Zai adshânzu uzbadê.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me abrâfu rakhâs allâkhul - You stupid descendant of orcs! (note that Me is an insulting form of address)   
> Binshalskhuzd – Lit. without-morals-dwarf  
> Nimthurul me ra rukhs, zânami rukhs – Between you and an orc I would kiss an orc! (a general insult)  
> Mahimdin gal’mêzu – Shut your mouth!   
> Mi Lagân - by the Gods!  
> Khuzd muzum - rude dwarf  
> khazdîth - dwarflings  
> amrâlê - my love  
> Lu' - No  
> Ubjab - Heretic. One who challenges the doctrines of an established religion. Lit. chooser, which is where the English word heretic also originates from. A serious crime amongst the dwarves.  
> 'izbad - a lesser lord  
> id-Zebdar - the Highking  
> uzbadhu - his king  
> Zann galikh - Good night  
> Zai adshânzu uzbadê - At your service, my king


	39. Making Love

“How is he?” Kíli and Dís ask simultaneously as they embrace.

“Thorin.”

“My father.”

Kíli smiles at his mother, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Thorin is fine. He is with Gloín at the moment and said he was meeting Balin after. He’s almost back to his normal moody old self,” he jests, steering his mother to sit down after her long journey. “So did you speak to him?”

Dís smiles sadly at her youngest. “I am so relieved to hear my brother has recovered. Thank you, my son,” she takes his hands in hers. “Unfortunately I have been less successful in my task. Sadrondor was not in Thafarsilafîn. However, I spoke with Lord Nowë. He told me that your father left his court shortly after our … relations.” She takes a deep breath. “He has not been seen or heard from for forty years.”

“Is he dead?” Kíli asks, feeling disappointed.

“No-one knows for sure, Kíli. Elves, as you know, are immortal but an unnatural death may have befallen him. Lord Nowë told me he had sent word around Azsâlzudûn for any news about him, but he has had none. It pains me, my child, that I bring no better news than that.”  

Kíli looks at his mother a moment and then throws his arms around her. “Yâ ‘amad, I am sorry that you didn’t find him.”

“Are you?” Dís exclaims in surprise. When they had parted Kíli had seemed rather upset about the thought of his elvish bloodline, even though he had in the end encouraged her to stay.

Kíli sits down next to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Being back with Thorin, spending time with him, being loved by him …” Kíli sighs. “It made me realise what a powerful feeling that is, mother. Thorin told me that it was you who suggested I’d be his shield. And you came to get me when Thorin needed me the most, even when you first disapproved. If you can forgive us our relationship, even when it goes against all rules and sensibilities, then who am I to judge yours. If you truly loved my father, then I am sad that you did not find him.”

Dís takes a shuddering breath at her son’s wisdom and kind words. “You have grown wise beyond your years since Thorin sent you away.” She strokes his short beard fondly. “In that and in your kindness you remind me so much of your father. He would have been proud of you.”

“You really think so?” Kíli asks tentatively, realising to his surprise that that thought actually means a lot to him.

“Kun. And I pray to Mahal that he has not gone to Dûmu Nuzr and that you may have the chance to meet with him one day.”

“So do I, ‘amad.”  Kíli is silent for a moment as he mulls over what to say next. He had been thinking so much about his father since he had left the elven harbour. And he had come to a surprising conclusion. “I would like to know who my father is,” he admits to his mother. “And I would like to learn to embrace my father’s side.”

Dís smiles in relief at her handsome son. “I am so happy you say that.”

“Do you think Fíli will be upset when he learns I am a halfling?” Kíli expresses his worries.

Dís considers this and then strokes Kíli’s hair reassuringly. “No, I think he will love you no matter what for you are a fine brother to him as he is to you.”

They both leave the other question hanging heavy in the air, afraid to voice fears on both sides about just how Thorin would take to that news.

***

“Thorin,” Balin looks up with a smile. “You look well, my friend.”

“Thank you. I certainly feel a lot better than I did,” Thorin smiles back, closing the door behind him. “Can we talk?”

“Of course …” Balin says a little hesitantly, understanding instantly that Thorin would not ask him such a question if this was going to be a standard conversation. “This is about Kíli …” he states plainly.

“Indirectly, yes,” Thorin nods. He remains standing, not feeling comfortable enough to have this conversation seated down. “But this is … Well, this is rather complicated.”  

Balin raises his bushy eyebrows and crosses his arms. “What in Durin’s name can be more complicated than you wanting to court your own nephew, Thorin? I heard you have followed my advice, to make him your guard …”

“Yes, and I thank you for that, kharmê.”

Balin snorts. “It does not mean I approve!”   he says stubbornly. “But I am but a simple dwarf and I will not claim to understand the ways of the Lagân. It appears Mahal did not agree with you sending Kíli away.”

“No, indeed he did not,” Thorin smirks.

“Well, out with it then. What other issues are on my king’s mind?”

“Kíli told me why he stayed with the elves during the summer,” Thorin says, much to Balin’s surprise. “He sought to translate some of our most ancient written treasures. He wished to learn to read the old Karâth, the knowledge of which is lost to our people as far as I know.”

Balin scrunches up his face. “Indeed, I know of no dwarf who can read those runes now.”

“Hence he travelled to Thafarsilafîn. And I regret to say that the elves have retained that knowledge that we have lost for they could read the old scrolls. Even more so they taught Kíli how to read them.”  

At that the other dwarf gasps. “But … Why, that is good news! The Temple will be pleased!”

“I hardly think so,” Thorin wipes the smile off Balin’s face as quickly as it had appeared.  

“What do you mean?”

Thorin sighs and this time does decide to sit down for his legs feel unsteady now. “What is written in those scrolls and what Kíli learnt from the elvish texts that he was shown will shake the foundation of The Temple and the teachings of the Godord.”

Balin stares at his lord and friend with big eyes. “Why? What is said in them?” he presses when Thorin does not continue.

And so Thorin relates what Kíli had told him. About Father Durin and his wife Lofn. About when and why the lore was changed. And most importantly that it implied that his love for Kíli could exist. No, better, that it truly was the greatest blessing that Mahal could have bestowed upon him.

By the end of his tale all the colour has drained from Balin’s face.  

“I know that Gorm will not buy such a story from Kíli or from me,” Thorin admits.

“Well on that we are agreed!” Balin scowls. “You have burnt those bridges good and proper, Thorin. And don’t even start an argument with me,” he stops Thorin dead in his tracks when the taller dwarf opens his mouth to defend just why he does not see eye to eye with the Kehnar. “I myself do not hold any love for Gorm and his ways and you full well know this. But equally he has great influence. And now you find yourself needing his favour and look where we are! He would rather see your head on a stake than admit to you, of all dwarves, that his teachings are flawed!”  

“I am aware of that!” Thorin growls, finding his anger flare. “That does not, however, change the fact that his teachings indeed are incorrect. And I will see that the truth is known to our people.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“We send the temple scribe to the elves to translate the documents,” Thorin explains his plan.

“Ori?” Balin strokes his beard as he considers this. And to Thorin’s surprise he responds, “It might work. Ori is ordained. The Temple would have to seriously consider his findings at the very least.”

“Can I trust him with the task?”

“Kun, I do think that you can, Thorin. I have known his older brother Dori for a long time and I hold him in high regard.”  

“As I recall, however,” Thorin looks sternly at his friend, “there is a third brother. One who is perhaps not as loyal …”  

Balin nods. “Aye Thorin, Nori has found himself on the wrong side of your laws before, uzbadê. But in truth, he is but an opportunist and a petty thief. I do believe, however, that he is loyal to you, Thorin.”

Thorin snorts, “And for what counts the loyalty of a thief?”

“If it comes to gathering allies in the standoff between you and Gorm or even Suthri, kharmê, maybe you cannot be too choosy,” Balin states bluntly.  

Thorin nods slowly, grateful for the fact that Balin always gives him his honest opinion, even if sometimes he would rather not hear it. “Suthri worries me.”

“Aye, he worries me also,” Balin puts a hand on Thorin’s shoulder.

“Kíli told me he is stirring the Farakân to question my rule.”

“We knew that that day might come, Thorin. He begrudges you. I fear he will never be satisfied with what you have given him. He wants recognition as the son of Thráin. To be the heir.”

Thorin waves his hand. “I must deal with one matter at a time. Do you agree for me to send Ori to Grey Havens to translate the Scrolls?”

Balin considers this carefully. It is a big risk. Challenging the religious lore so fundamentally could have implications that go well beyond their initial assessments. But even if it was not for Thorin’s personal interest in the matter, if their current lore is misleading their people from Mahal’s true intentions then they have a duty to correct the anomaly and reinstate the wife of Durin at his side.

Slowly he nods. “Kun, Thorin. But I must warn you that we may not yet understand what this will do for you and for us as a people. As you said yourself, this is complicated. But I feel that it is in the hands of Mahal.”

“Very well. I shall send instruction. As for Suthri …” Thorin rises to his feet, “I shall travel to ask him what his problem is in person. As soon as my sister has returned.”  

***

When Dwalin knocks on the door to Fíli’s private chambers he has a wide grin plastered across his face. “I’m ‘ere to report for duty,” he says, his eyes glinting, “as per our King’s orders.”  

Fíli too grins widely as he allows his lover to enter, his heart fluttering high in his chest like he’s never felt before. As soon as the door has fallen shut he is lifted off his feet and swung around the room as their lips seek each other eagerly.  

“Thorin has been generous to allow us this,” Dwalin observes when he places the blond prince back onto his feet.

Fíli snorts, “I think it was as much in his own interest as in ours. They have wasted no time at all to get re-acquainted.”

Dwalin laughs at that, “Aye, I did note that too.” He cocks his head at his younger lover. “Does that mean we too get to play tonight?” he asks carefully. They are in courtship now so he may initiate, but he does not want to offend the young prince.

But Fíli make his intentions quite clear as he runs his hand down the warrior’s chest towards his breeches, where he cups him without hesitation. “I would say it does,” he winks and then takes Dwalin’s lips again, massaging them with his own as he pushes his tongue into the warmth of his mouth. Dwalin’s kisses are always urgent, hard and possessive and Fíli loves that feeling of his tongue exploring him firmly, as if he wishes to make every little square inch his own. “Please …” he whispers as he feels himself grow hard under the eager touches, “make love to me, Dwalin.”

The older warrior is surprised. It is a human phrase, not one that dwarves ever use in courtship. But it sends little pulses all through his body as he scoops his young prince into his strong arms and carries him towards the bed. “I will honour ya, wee prince,” he grins, feeling his arousal stir up inside his breeches.

Fíli sinks back against the firm pillows, staring into the bright eyes of the big dwarf. “Mark me,” he says needily. “Mark me as yours.”  

Dwalin lets out a wanton groan at the order. “As you command, 'uzbadê _._ ” He starts to pull off his tunics and his belts and then pulls at the lacing of his breeches until the garment drops to the stone floor. When he turns back to the young prince, he finds that Fíli has not hesitated to follow his initiative as he lays naked and splayed on the bed. “Y’re a treasure,” Dwalin gasps as he kneels down and runs his hands through Fíli’s golden locks. “A fine golden jewel.”

“And you my rough diamond,” Fíli smiles back as he eagerly waits for Dwalin to fulfil his order.

Dwalin bends himself down and laps his rough tongue along Fíli’s neck, enjoying this shudder from the young dwarf as he explores all his sensitive spots, just under his ear, in the dip at the bottom of his neck, and up towards his other ear, where he nips at one of his royal braids.

“Tease …” Fíli groans softly.

Dwalin bites softly into his earlobe and sticks his tongue into his ear. “Aye,” he whispers as his large hand slides along Fíli’s side, digging into the soft skin stretched over hard muscle. He presses his lips hard onto Fíli’s again, burrowing his tongue deep into his mouth as his hand feels down until he feels the heavy hardness of the prince’s desire resting against his stomach. Fíli groans into his mouth as a hand folds around his cock, squeezing him firmly. “Ye’ve a fine weapon, milord,” Dwalin sighs as he pushes his hips forward, pressing his own manhood against Fíli’s thigh.  

Fíli grins at him and bucks his hips, riding his cock into Dwalin’s fist to seek friction.

“Such an eager wee fox,” Dwalin kisses him hard once more as he rolls onto his side and begins to work at his lover.

“Please,” Fíli groans. “Don’t play.” He pulls up his knees to make his need obvious. “I’ve waited too long for this already!”  

Dwalin nods at his young lover’s eagerness and grabs the oil skin from his belt. He dips his fingers in the viscous substance and then brings them towards Fíli’s entrance. Slowly he runs his fingers between Fíli’s buttocks, gentle at first but soon more roughly as Fíli groans and wriggles in encouragement.

“In!” Fíli gasps as he tries to move himself down onto the teasing finger.

Dwalin laughs. “Y’re a demanding one, u’rakhê zabadul,” he growls at the blond youngster.

“Aye. Then satisfy me!” Fíli snarls back and he grabs for Dwalin’s cock.

Dwalin throws his head back as Fíli’s nimble fingers trace up his length, until they start to circle the rim of his knob. “That’s good,” he groans and simultaneously presses against Fíli’s pucker. He does not bother to take it slow since the younger dwarf clearly does not want him to and enters him with two thick fingers.

Fíli jolts at the sudden intrusion and can’t stop the cry that escapes his lips as his body freezes. He had played with himself, sticking his fingers in there and other things too. Yet it still feels so different to have another buck enter him like that. He almost loses his nerve, wishing he had been less demanding and told Dwalin the truth. But then the sting makes place for an intense pleasure as those coarse fingers stroking his walls make him shudder in want. He pulls the oil skin from Dwalin’s other hand and begins to slick up his prick, admiring the glistening of his purple cockhead, oil mixing with the juices appearing like dew drops from his slit.

Dwalin is pleasantly surprised by how loud the young prince is as his fingers explore his tunnel eagerly. Normally Fíli is so reserved, so quiet and composed. But in bed he is like a feral beast, snarling and growling like a mountain wolf in heat. It has been a long while since any stirred such desires in him and he can barely wait to tame that wild gorgeous creature who writhes before him. He delights as he can feel the ring of muscle relax around his prodding fingers and Fíli’s entrance open up for more. “Are ye ready then, galathê _?”_

In response, Fíli pulls him by his cock towards him. “Yes, do your duty!” he growls deep in his throat at his new guard.

Dwalin shudders with laughter. “I hadn’t realised this came with me duties, 'uzbadê! Very well, I’m here to serve ya, master Fíli …” he grins and with that he pushes the prince’s legs back even further and without any further ado he breaches his rim.

“Aaaaah!” Fíli gasps. The stretch is so much more than he had expected and his eyes water at the sting. He bites hard on his lips as it feels like he is being torn open by the big dwarf, his hands clawing into the sheets, trying to relax but unable to as Dwalin pushes in deeper. “It … hurts … Stop!” he whimpers, his eyes wide.  

Dwalin freezes. “I’m so sorry, Fee,” he answers, flushed, pulling back. “Did I not prepare y’enough? Did I …?”

“I’ve not done it,” Fíli blurts out.

Dwalin stills and looks at the blond in confusion. “Ye’ve not done what?”

“This,” Fíli shivers, crossing his legs. “Been taken …”

Dwalin’s eyes grow wide. Fíli had quite the reputation and the idea that he had never been the bottom dwarf had not even crossed his mind. He had taken a buck’s innocence before, ones who had asked him to honour the final part of their coming of age ritual – a great honour indeed! But he had always known and he had always taken plenty of time to prepare his partner and taken the penetration slowly. “Why didn’t ye say?!” he gasps. “I would have taken my time!” he utters in frustration and disappointment in himself for having hurt his prince. “Ye should have said!”

“I did not want you to think me weak,” Fíli flushes too, wanting to crawl up into a ball in embarrassment.

“Weak?” Dwalin raises an eyebrow.

“I wanted to prove to you I could take it. I did not want you to think I was a poor lover.” He can feel his eyes brim.

But Dwalin shakes his head and takes Fíli’s hand. Suddenly Fíli looks as young as he is. Having seen him run the affairs of their kingdom in Thorin’s absence he had momentarily forgotten the young prince is barely of age. “Ya silly dwarfling,” he reprimands. “It is an honour to be the first to enter ya! But not like this,” he grumbles, his cock hanging limp now from shock.

“Kíli has done it!” Fíli utters in frustration, feeling himself blush even more fiercely as he pulls back his hand and curls his legs up against his chest.

“What? This is not a tournament; there are no prizes for your injuries!” Dwalin growls. “If Thorin has taken Kíli he will have done it slowly and carefully, allowing your brother to accept him and make it enjoyable. As I would have with you,” he grumbles into his beard. This had not at all gone as it had in his fantasies.  

Fíli peers at him through his lashes, feeling silly now. He had worried so much about this moment, both desperate to do it and equally frightened to let his inexperience show.

Dwalin cocks his head at his young lover and softens his tone.  “Come ‘ere. Now why would I think ya weak?” he asks, cradling his blond partner in his strong arms. “When I was taken for the first time I threatened to rip my bedpartner’s head off for causing me such pain! But then I learnt that it is an art form, little prince. Like forging a fine weapon. You cannot rush it; you need to prepare properly. The forge needs to be hot enough, the iron needs to be treated with care and dedication. If you rush it, the metal will warp and shatter.”

Fíli nods in understanding at the metaphor.

“Ya wanna try again, wee prince?” Dwalin asks carefully. “Slowly this time?”

Fíli stares at him for a moment, the memory of that moment of pain hitting him a second time round. But he trusts Dwalin as much as he trusts Kíli and Thorin. “Yes …” he says quietly.

Dwalin smiles and presses a soft, warm kiss on his lips. “If it hurts, we stop,” he says firmly and moves himself down as he starts to press little kisses onto Fíli’s stomach. “There is no … rushing … this …” he says in between each wet kiss. “We’ve got … all night.”

Fíli soon starts to relax under Dwalin’s gentle kisses, under the strokes of his large hands, and his eyes close as he focuses on every touch.

“Good?” Dwalin asks.

“Yes,” Fíli whispers. “Very good.” He can feel the drag of Dwalin’s cock along his leg as the older dwarf moves himself between his legs.

This time when that hand feels it way up his legs Fíli feels even more nervous, anticipating the stretch that had overwhelmed him. But Dwalin knows how to handle him now and very slowly drags his calloused fingertips over the sensitive entrance between them. Fíli’s initial tensing begins to melt away as his rim is teased gently this time, Dwalin’s thick fingers slicked with plenty of oil. After a few tense moments he lets his legs fall open again to give his lover access.

Soft moans escape his lips when Dwalin exerts a little pressure, but this time the intrusion is gentle and smooth, one finger teasing its way in first and stroking his insides, before a second slowly follows.

“How does that feel, gorgeous prince?”

“Amazing!” Fíli gasps as Dwalin twists his fingers inside him and rub over something that sends sparks right to the tip of his cock. “Ooooh!” he cries out, writhing over Dwalin’s fingers.

“Found yer special place there?” Dwalin grins smugly.

“Mahal’s blessed beard, yes!” Fíli keens. His prick is pulsing pleasantly as Dwalin slowly drags his fingers over that spot inside him. He throws his head back in the pillows, enjoying that pressure that his lover is exerting onto his button and then wails in pleasure as out of the blue he feels a wet warmth wrap around his cockhead. His eyes spring open and he stares down his body to find Dwalin’s mouth sinking down his hardness, swallowing him whole.  His hands claw at the furs on the bed as he trembles from the overwhelming pleasure, now cursing himself for being so hasty before, almost denying himself all of these amazing treats. He keens and sighs and whimpers as Dwalin’s rough tongue slithers over his cockhead. Each movement of fingers and lips and tongue adding to more and more pleasure than Fíli has ever felt before.

When Dwalin drops him from his mouth, he stares at him in disappointment. He was getting close and the sudden coldness on his tip makes him shiver. But Dwalin smiles at him and pushes his knees against his chest again, tilting his pelvis to expose his entrance. “Ya gorgeous wee fox,” he smirks as he starts to rub his crown over Fíli’s now well-worked opening, making the young prince tremble even more. “This is how we do this,” he strokes the back of his legs, all the while rubbing the length of his thick cock between Fíli’s buttocks. “Nice an’ slow.”

Fíli hums in agreement. He has never been taken care of this well before and suddenly he feels shame over the way he has treated his bedpartners, realising how much he still has to learn about bedsports. That it is not just about the pleasure of the giver – quite the opposite. That it is supposed to be pleasurable for both. An art form, like Dwalin had said. Like a battle sequence; coordinated movements that come together in perfect harmony.

By the time Dwalin lines his well-oiled shaft up with his entrance again he feels like he is floating on a cloud. And although the stretch when that thick head breaches him is still an odd feeling that makes him gasp again, this time it is also pleasurable. Dwalin slowly slides past the tight ring of muscle and his thick cock rubs along his walls and over his pleasure spot. His lover takes it easy this time, allowing him to stretch and mould around his sword as he penetrates him deeper.

Fíli smiles up into the bright eyes of the older warrior.

“Is that better, wee prince?” Dwalin whispers as Fíli’s heat wraps around him.

“Yes,” Fíli pants. “Really nice.” He grunts softly as Dwalin moves to lie on top of him. He loves the feel of the weight and warmth of his broad lover pressing him deeper into the mattress. “To feel you … inside me …” he moans, “… Amazing …”

“You honour me,” Dwalin smiles and kisses him tenderly.

As Dwalin begins to push his hips, driving himself deeper into the prince’s body, their moans fall in sync and Fíli easy picks up the rhythm that his more experienced partner is setting. He pulls Dwalin in closer and presses his lips hard against his. “I like …. this,” he groans loudly into Dwalin’s mouth.

“Good,” Dwalin grunts back. “Me too.” And he slowly drives up the pace, penetrating his lover deeper, pulling back further, listening carefully to the right moans that guide him to set a pleasurable pace for both that builds up and up.

Fíli writhes under the bigger dwarf. And soon the assault on his prostrate makes him break out in a sweat. Dwalin must sense his need as next a large hand snakes between them and starts to fist his trembling cock.

“Spill yer seed for me,” Dwalin nips at Fíli’s neck as he pulls him off with vigour and Fíli could not stop the flow even if he had wanted to as he cries his release into Dwalin’s large hand, thick drips of come landing on his sizzling hot skin.

He shudders and his eyes bulge when Dwalin promptly brings his soiled hand to his lips and licks his still warm juices from his fingers. “Oh my …” he stares at his lover, excitement flushing through him, before his breath is sealed off as Dwalin pushes his own taste down his throat. He closes his eyes as he tastes the saltiness of his seed on his lover’s lips and tongue, drowsy now from the intensity of it all.

Dwalin pants heavily and Fíli feels his hot sweat on his skin as he wraps his legs tighter around the warrior. When he opens his eyes again he can see pure pleasure spread across Dwalin’s face as his movements become erratic short thrusts, accompanied by deep throated grunts. And he feels his lover’s cock pulse and release his juices deep inside him with sharp jerks.

Moments later Dwalin collapses heavily down on him and kisses him hard.

“That was amazing,” Fíli whispers in shocked admiration. “That was the best sex I have ever had!”

Dwalin smiles proudly. “We’ave only just started, wee prince,” he winks. “There is a lot more to explore still.”

Fíli beams and snuggles himself into Dwalin’s embrace when the older dwarf rolls himself onto his side. “I apologise for earlier …” he whispers shyly.

“Ye must learn to trust me, wee prince,” Dwalin murmurs into his golden locks. “As your partner and as your guard. You must have no secrets from me that could cause you harm. Promise me, Fíli.”

“I promise you,” Fíli smiles, curling up into that safe and strong embrace even more.

“Good.” Dwalin kisses the sweaty golden locks of his prince and cuddles him close.

He sighs contently and closes his eyes as he listens to the fast beat of Dwalin’s heart until it sends him off to sleep.

***

Ori blinks at the messenger. “Me? The king has asked for me?”

The other dwarf reads his instructions again and nods, handing the scroll with the royal seal to the red-haired priest.

“But this says I am to leave at first light tomorrow!”

The messenger shrugs. “I was just told to give you this. I don’t know any more than that, I’m afraid.”

Ori watches the dwarf leave and then reads the scroll again.

_By decree of His Majesty, King Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór you, Ori, son of Bori, are to travel to Thafarsilafîn at first light of the morrow. You will be escorted under the banner of the House of Durin. You will receive full instruction of your assignment upon your arrival, where you will report to Lady Istiel, custodian of the Great Library. Your mission is of great importance to Durin's Folk and the Royal House and is to be treated in the greatest confidence. We trust in your honour and loyalty to your King._

Ori rubs his thumb over the royal seal as if expecting it to not be real.  He has no idea what this mission could possibly entail. _Why me?_ He did not even know the king knew his name, let alone that he would entrust him with a task of _great importance_. Perhaps Kíli had recommended him to his uncle? He had after all helped the youngest Durin prince on a few occasions.

_We trust in your honour and loyalty to your King..._ Ori flushes when he thinks about a rather unpleasant encounter several months ago now. Thorin had returned from the valley town battered and bruised a few days later and Ori had not been able to shake the feeling that the two incidents were somehow related, that he was somehow responsible for what had happened to the king.

_Then now is your chance to make up for your mistake! Show your king that you_ are _loyal to him!_

He feels a flutter of both excitement and anxiety as he rushes to his dorm to pack his few worldly belongings. Grey Havens! He's never traveled any further than the human town at the foot of the mountain range. To go to the elvish harbour and be granted access to their famous library is like a dream come true.

"Akhminruki astû, Mahal ablâkul," he mumbles his humble prayers. "Thank you for this opportunity."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azsâlzudûn - Eriador (Lone Lands)  
> Dûmu Nuzr - Halls of Mandos (lit. Halls of the Custodian). The dwarves assume that although all races go to the Realm of the Gods in the afterlife, the dwarves will go to Mahal's Halls of Waiting, whereas the elves go to the Halls of Mandos. Therefore they do not meet in the afterlife  
> kharmê - brother (kinsman)  
> Karâth - runes (Cirth)  
> u’rakhê zabadul – loosely translated as my royal whore. u’rakh lit. means desirer. The English word whore comes from Scandanavian horon – one who desires.  
> Galathê – my delight  
> Akhminruki astû, Mahal ablâkul - Thank you greatly, mighty Mahal


	40. Prophecies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies I am a bit slow publishing right now, it's that time of year in the run up to HobbitCon!

“Are you alright, nadad?” Kíli looks up in surprise at his older sibling as Fíli strides into the armoury. “If you’re looking for your _guard_ , he’s not here yet.”

“I’m not,” Fíli tries to sound his casual self. He picks up an axe and weighs it in his hands, but he cannot help the silly grin that lies across his face and he knows that his brother’s eyes are boring into his back.

“I see,” Kíli grins too now, getting to his feet. “I am guessing then that Master Dwalin is still inspecting the furs of your bed. You’re standing a little funny, brother,” he teases. “Everything alright down _there_?”

“Very well, thank you for asking,” Fíli smirks, not looking at his brother.

“It fit alright?” Kíli winks thickly now at his brother’s almost admission.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it!” Kíli slaps his brother on his back. “After the beating you gave me for standing in the way of your good time, I sincerely hope that Dwalin has done you good and proper!”

“KÍLI!” Fíli cries out in shock at his brother’s crudeness. But then he laughs. “He sure did.”

“Ooooh!” Kíli drags his brother down onto one of the stone benches. “Well, spill the details! Is the Master of the Royal Guard as good a swordsman between the furs as he is outside the bedchamber.”

“I have no reason to complain,” Fíli smirks. Then his stoic resolve breaks and he utters, “He was awesome!” He continues to fiddle with the axe in his hand, thinking back dreamily to last night. “He is so very skilled. It really was amazing! Well ... Eventually …” He feels an uncomfortable blush creep into his cheeks, not sure whether to confess his failings. “At first …”

“It damn well hurts at first, doesn’t it?” Kíli finishes the sentence for him when Fíli does not, guessing at his brother’s hesitance.

“Kun!” Fíli exclaims in relief that his brother had experienced the same. “It … it felt like he was driving a real sword up there first!” He adds in an embarrassed whisper, “I had to tell him to stop …”

“Oh poor brother,” Kíli feels his pain for him. “But did you … Finish?”

“Yeah,” Fíli smiles. “Dwalin was so good. I thought he’d be angry or disappointed in me. But he was only annoyed because I didn’t tell him I had not …. And then we took it real slow and … ‘Ukshu!” He actually feels himself getting aroused just thinking about that amazing orgasm that Dwalin had given him and shifts.

Kíli wraps his arm around his brother. “Good! Now we both know what it’s like. And I am happy for you that you have found such a skilled mature lover too.”

Fíli nods, then bites his lip. “Kíli …” he begins. “With you and …” he lowers his voice since they are not in private here even though there is no one else around, “… and Thorin … How did you know he was your One? How do you know it’s … well … love?”

Kíli blinks at his brother. “Mahal told me. At my fire ritual. Why?” he frowns, bracing himself for some sort of challenge as these days everything seems to be.

“Nothing,” Fíli gets to his feet hurriedly. “It’s nothing.”

_Mahal told him? Mahal has never told me anything!_

He sighs. “I’d best get to work.”

“You’re back to working in the forge?” Kíli enquires, confused by both his brother’s question and answer.

But Fíli shakes his head. “Thorin has arranged for others to take over. He has asked me to oversee the excavations of the lower Halls. Said that now that I have proven my worth as his heir to him he will not have me back at the forge. I guess it’s a compliment…”

“I sure would take it as one,” Kíli agrees. “I think we’ve both impressed Thorin. We’ll see how long it lasts,” he jests, knowing his uncle is quicker to criticise than to praise.

“Well, I have no doubt that you have impressed him!” Fíli sticks out his tongue as he puts the axe in his belt. “You seem to know exactly what pleases the King,” he teases some more before striding out of the armoury, making his way down to where the clearing of Thorin’s expanded Halls is taking place.

_Mahal told him._

He cannot get it out of his head. He remembers Kíli telling him for as long as he remembers that Mahal talks to him, but if he is honest with himself he has never really understood what his brother meant by that. As in his head? In his dreams? He prays to Mahal as any other good dwarf does, but the Lord of the Anvil never _talks_ back. Not in actual spoken words. And suddenly he feels unsure. Is he doing something wrong? Is Mahal angry with him? Or is there another reason?  

Moreover, there is another niggle in his mind. The one that had made him ask the question in the first place.

 _Do not be absurd!_ he scolds himself silently as he descends the hewn out stairs. _Dwalin is a great dwarf and a wonderful mate. You are lucky that he wishes to share your bedstead. That does not mean that Mahal favours you! Only last year were you still of the understanding that such a blessing could be between a buck and dam only. Just because Mahal has made an exception for Thorin and Kíli does not mean that he will do the same for you!_

And yet he cannot rid himself of the feeling that Dwalin is different to any other dwarf whom he has bedded and not just because he is more mature and experienced. The guard stirs something in him that feels different to the sexual desire he has felt with others. Yes, he loved having sex with him. But he loves just as much to just lay in his arms or to sit by the fire and talk together. And he knows he doesn't just yearn for his mate’s cock; he yearns for his company.

+++

“Thorin?”

The king looks up from his paperwork and smiles at his new shield and lover as he appears through the side door. “Hello Kíli. I did not think it would take you long before you optimised the new arrangement.”

Kíli walks over to his desk and puts his hands on his uncle’s shoulders and he glances over at the desk. “You’re still working?” he frowns. “It is nearly midnight!”

“There is much to catch up, my love,” Thorin sighs and he leans back when Kíli starts to soothingly knead the knots in his shoulders. “Your brother has done well to keep the kingdom under control and take care of the most urgent matters. But these,” he points to a pile of parchment, “are all requests, pleads, applications, complaints and whatnot else that need to be dealt with by the king also. Azsâlzudûn did not stop when I did, little Kee.” He smiles up into the beautiful brown eyes of his lover. “But perhaps you are right. It is late and these can wait until tomorrow. How are you?”  

Kíli looks at Thorin in surprise. His uncle is not one to put aside work easily. But he welcomes his decision and places a kiss on his lover’s nose, then pulls to a chair. “Busy too. There is much to be done. But,” he says happily, “Ori and his escort have set off this morning.”

“Good,” Thorin nods.

“I just hope he will be back with the answers soon,” Kíli takes a deep breath, then smiles up at Thorin. “This really is nice, to be back and close with you. But I don’t want to have to hide anymore how much I love you. I want to be stood at your side. I want you to be proud that I am your blessing.”

“Kíli, I _am_ proud,” Thorin frowns with a sad expression as he caresses his lover’s cheek. “Let’s hope Ori will return soon,” he forces a smile. Kíli’s desperate hope that that will resolve everything for them, that it will allow them to be together openly as lovers, worries him. Yes, the Godord will have to seriously consider Ori’s findings. But he cannot imagine that they will do it willingly and he feels certain that their struggle for justice is far from over. But he does not want to ruin that pretty smile tonight and so he keeps his pragmatic thoughts to himself.

“Will you smoke with me?” he asks as he raises himself up and stretches his stiff limbs after having been sat in the same position for hours.

Kíli too gets to his feet and follows his lover to the adjacent room where they sit themselves together in more comfortable chairs in front of a roaring fire. He takes out his pipe and accepts the sweet pipe-weed grown in these regions that his uncle offers him.

“Can I ask you something, Thorin?” he says after a while of contently blowing smoke rings into the atmosphere together.

“Of course, what is it?” Thorin smiles kindly at his nephew.

“Do the Lagân speak to you? Has Mahal ever appeared to you?”

Thorin raises a surprised eyebrow at the unexpected subject. “Well … In the Temple, when I pray to Him, sometimes I hear His voice. It’s not like when another dwarf speaks to me. It is more like a thought, something inside my head. But I know it is Mahal and he speaks clearly.” He watches Kíli nod contemplatively. “Why do you ask this?”

Kíli shifts a little, reluctant to bring up the elves again in front of his uncle. But it’s something that has been pressing on his mind now more than ever after the odd conversation with his brother that morning. “Lord Nowë told me that it’s a gift. That not all dwarrow can hear and see the gods like I can. I … I don’t think Fíli can …”

Thorin nods slowly. “The elf is correct,” he sighs. “It is said to be a gift passed between the eldest sons of the House of Durin as descendants from Durin the Deathless himself. lthough it appears that on this occasion it skipped the eldest and went to the youngest buck in the royal line. But the gift has largely faded over the centuries. You, amrâlê, really are blessed if our Father and the Green Lady appear and talk to you directly.”

Kíli blushes at the realisation. “I never knew …”

“Howcome you ended up talking to the elflord about this?” Thorin asks with a hint of suspicion that he is unable to leave out of his voice. The gift of their bloodline is no business of any non-dwarrow and certainly not of any elven kind.

Kíli pulls his pipe from his lips as he thinks about how to tell his uncle about this. “Something happened, when I was at Lord Suthri’s court,” he begins softly. “I was upset, about us, about you sending me away. And I wrote you a letter, telling you how I felt and that I loved you, which I then burnt because I knew I could not send it.”  

Thorin takes his nephew’s hand and rubs his large thumb over the back of it. “I made a mistake,” he admits once more, feeling a heavy guilt over his misjudgement of the situation and his treatment of his beloved even if he had had his best interest at heart.  

But Kíli shakes his head, not wanting to dwell on that anymore. He is no longer angry with Thorin about that. “I only mention it because it seemed to set into motion what happened next. I think I went to the woods …” he continues.

“You think?” Thorin asks, confused.

“It is … unclear .... I am sure I did, but it was kind of like a dream as well,” Kíli tries to explain, wanting Thorin to stop interrupting his flow. “I was angry and I ran into the woods of the Southern Mountains. And then I threw myself onto the forest floor and I called out to Mahal. I challenged him, told him that if I could not have the love that he cursed me with then he might as well take my life. I think I fell asleep then because when I woke up it was daylight. And then _she_ appeared …”

“She?”

“Khajmûna! “

“Yavanna?” Thorin’s eyes grow wide. Yes, he had spoken with Mahal as well as his feathered messengers. But he had never had the honour to speak with Mahal’s bride.

Kíli nods eagerly. “Yes, I swear it, Thorin! It was like she appeared from the bark of the tree itself.”

“What did she look like?” Thorin asks curiously. The gods were known to appear to mortals in many forms.

“She was like a woman. Tall, like the elves. But definitely not an elfling. It was like she blended with everything around her. Like she was part of the very fabric of the forest. She was kind to me.”

Thorin listens with baited breath, astounded by Kíli’s apparent divine connections.

“She told me to ask her the question of my heart. And I asked her why you. Why you were my blessing if we could not be together.”

“Oh, ‘ibin mim,” Thorin kisses Kíli’s hand, feeling his young lover’s ache in his own heart.

“No, no listen. She said that you _are_ my One. That there are trials ahead for us, but that we must remain strong. And then …” he screws up his face as he tries to remember the exact words, “… she said something else. Something I still don’t really understand. Something about a key, that I am the key … And that I will return the heart to our people …”

“The Arkenstone …” Thorin immediately says without thinking.

“What did you just say?” Kíli stares at Thorin as his eyes grow wide.

“The heart of our people. The Arkenstone,” Thorin repeats. “One of the names for the jewel of kings is kurdu ‘urd. The heart of the mountain.”

Kíli stares at his uncle open-mouthed. “Of course! How did I not think of that?! But that means … Azsâlul'abad …”

But Thorin shakes his head. “No. I have made up my mind. We are staying here; I am making my kingdom here. I am too old to go hunting for treasures from under the feet of a fire breathing dragon. Azsâlul'abad is lost.”

“How can you say that?!” Kíli frowns deeply. “You have never given up on our homeland before. I know you said we should stay here, but if it is Mahal’s wish …”

“I said no,” Thorin growls and he shoves his chair back hard. “I am not coming back on my word. That is the end of it!” And he makes ready to get up.

“She said something else,” Kíli stops him. “She said, the sun would rise on the throne of kings.”

At that Thorin feels the blood freeze in his veins as a dream - a dream? A vision? - returns to him. “Say that again,” he gasps.

“She said, the sun would rise …”

“… on the throne of kings.”

“Yes …” Kíli nods, looking at his uncle with confusion.

“Frerin told me that,” Thorin remembers with a shock.

“What?” Kíli leans forward to look at his older lover. He had never known his youngest uncle; Frerin had been killed before he was even born. But he knows Thorin had been very fond of his sibling. But it had been over fifty years since he had passed to the Halls of Waiting … “Frerin told you when?”

Thorin focuses his eyes back on Kíli, blinking back the image as he tries to recall the details. “When … when I had fallen ill.”

“Thorin … Frerin is dead,” Kíli bites his lip, worried for his lover’s sanity.

“No. Yes …” Thorin rubs his beard as he tries to sort things out in his head. “I know. But he … he came to me. In a dream. I remember it now. He told me that it is my destiny to reclaim the Mountain. But not for the throne ... “ _Not for me …_ “The sun will rise on the throne of kings …” he says slowly, trying to make sense of these words. He shakes his head and gets to his feet and begins to pace.

“Uncle, then we have to go back. I know it is my destiny to help you reclaim the throne and be king of the dwarrow!” Kili states firmly, standing up too.  

Thorin stares at his lover, his brain racing over the information he has been given. _Is there really a chance? A chance to reclaim Azsâlul'abad?_ “No,” he shakes his head stubbornly. “It is done. I prayed to Mahal for over a century. It was just a dream.” _Was it? But if it wasn’t …_ He hesitates whether to tell Kíli what else his brother had said. If it was truly a premonition, then he understood all too well its meaning. _If I return to the mountain, it will be my downfall …_

But Kíli is quite unaware of his uncle’s underlying concerns and argues back, “No! It cannot be just a dream, Thorin! How then do you explain that we both dreamt exactly the same thing? No, He has answered your prayers!”

“Kíli!” Thorin raises his voice, turning to face his beloved. “Do not make me say it again!”

“Fine!” Kíli snaps back, losing his patience with Thorin’s obstinacy now. “Suit yourself, you stubborn dwarf! First you deny your blessing, now your destiny? You pray to Mahal and when He answers you you refuse to believe it? No wonder Suthri is questioning your dedication to Mahal!”  

He does not see the slap coming and finds himself stumbling and falling onto the floor as his hand shoots to his cheek.

“You forget your place, nudn!” Thorin growls. “GET OUT!!”  

He watches the brunet jump to his feet and storm towards his own adjacent chambers, slamming the door hard behind him.  

Thorin's face contorts in anger and he finds himself bellowing out his frustration at the stone of the room hewn deep into the mountain. “WHY?!” he shouts to the gods above. “For years I begged for a sign, for anything that would lead me and my people back to our home. You remained silent! And now that I have promised them peace and settlement you want me to break my word? No! I will not! Do not play games with me, Master of the Anvil! I have served you loyally over the years. I have been an honourable dwarf throughout. But I will not abandon my people like my father did. I will not!!”  

He jumps when two arms snake around him and then relaxes as he feels Kíli’s soothing embrace.  

“I cannot come back on my word, Kíli,” Thorin sighs as he closes his eyes.

“Mahal says it is not your decision,” Kíli whispers as he rocks his beloved. “Neither is it His.” Suddenly something appears to take over his vocal cords as he adds in a monotone voice that is not his own, “There are changes afoot. An evil is stirring. What will be will be.”

The brunet prince shakes his head as if awaking from a daydream. “I am fed up with prophecies and riddles,” he groans and then turns his uncle around and presses a hard kiss on his lips. “Amralizu, Thorin,” he smiles against his lips. “Whatever you choose to do, I will be right here beside you, as your shield and as your beloved.”  

Thorin forces a smile as he brushes Kíli’s red cheek. “And I love you. Forgive me.”  

Kíli allows Thorin to wrap his arms around him and cuddles up against his broad chest. “I would really like my kin to stop lashing out at me,” he semi jokes as he lays his own hand over Thorin’s. “But yes, I forgive you. And I apologise for my thoughtless words spoken in anger.”

Thorin holds his prince against him, nuzzling his wild hair. All the while his mind is churning over the prophecies that Kíli has foretold and wonders what fate awaits him and his people. He is fairly certain that whatever decision he makes will seal his fate. But then as Kíli had said, perhaps it was out of his hands. If Mahal wants to sacrifice him for a greater cause, then he can only embrace that destiny in the knowledge that he has served his Lord. It is not that thought that disturbs him, as he pulls his young love even closer.

_What will become of Kíli, mahdulyasthûnê?_

+++

“Everything alright, wee prince?” Dwalin asks as he watches Fíli strip off his over shirt.

“Hm yes,” Fíli mumbles as he splashes water from the basin into his face. “Actually, no.” He turns round, dabbing his skin dry and then looks at Dwalin with a frown on his brow.

“What is the matter?” the older dwarf pats the bed next to him.

“Well ... “ Fíli sighs as he sits down next to his partner, “when I was in the lower Halls today, overseeing the work on the new staircase, I heard some things being said …”   

“What things?” Dwalin narrows his eyes when Fíli does not continue.

“Things about … Thorin,” Fíli looks up at his new lover. “Questioning whether he is well enough to be king …”

“I see …” Dwalin rubs his bald head as he digests this. “Aye, I have heard such tongues  too. But Thorin is back now. He will soon show them he is the King alright.”

“Yes, I guess you are right,” Fíli dares a smile.

“They’re just simple folk, Fee,” Dwalin rubs Fíli’s shoulder. “But if ye’r worried, maybe ya should talk to Thorin.”

“No, it’s alright,” Fíli shakes his head. “You are right; they are just stupid gossips. They will soon find another dwarf to gossip about. Thorin does not need to worry himself over this.” He leans in and kisses Dwalin’s lips under his moustache. “Let’s do something nice,” he whispers through the kiss, wrapping his arms around his strong lover. And soon his worries are forgotten as Dwalin pushes him back against the pillows and ploughs his tongue into his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Ukshu! - Wow!  
> Azsâlzudûn - Eriador  
> amrâlê - my love  
> ‘ibin mim - little gem  
> nudn - boy  
> Amralizu - I love you


	41. Treason

Ori blinks at the page and then squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.

When he had arrived at Lord Nowë’s court he had been surprised to receive instruction to learn the ancient rune script of Moria from the elves. The king made no secret of his dislike of the elven kind. Still, Ori, being the scholar he was, also knew that that old strife reached as far back as the quarrel over Khagsmesemu Khazâd and the Silmaril. That in reality it had very little to do with any personal grievances between the House of Durin and the elves of Mirkwood. It simply was one of those things were the pettiest of arguments between elves and dwarves would soon reopen old festering wounds that lay deep in the past.  

Nonetheless being asked to learn how to read their own treasures with the help of elves was unexpected to say the least. And Ori cannot help but wonder what possible piece of information would be of such unimaginable importance that Thorin would swallow his grievances like that.  All he can imagine is that it will hold some clue that will allow the king to finally be reunited the love of his life - The Arkenstone. The King's Jewel, subject of Thorin's lifelong obsession, his greatest heartache. It was not for nothing that he'd remained solitary throughout the decades as no-one could replace the loss of his one true love, so Ori mused. Of course it was not unusual for dwarves to seek the company of jewels over other dwarves.  Such relics may not offer certain pleasure but they could offer beauty and satisfaction nonetheless. That Ori can understand to an extent. As an ordained priest of Mahal he may not partake in the pleasures of courtship but he has his books and prayers which bring pleasures that are beyond the physical.  

As far as the elves were concerned Ori felt a little intimidated by them. They were even taller than the human folk and seemed to breathe such serenity that Ori felt clumsy and noisy as a young boar when he walked amongst them. As for the welcome they have given him, however, he would not complain. They were most courteous and treated him, a priest of Aulë as they called Mahal, with great respect. The food and drink on the other hand was another matter altogether and the young scholar was starting to worry he might starve to death on this diet of fish and barley.  

Any such complaints he may have had had been forgiven as soon as he had been granted access to the ancient library of Thafarsilafîn. A treasure to him that would rival the wealth of the Lonely Mountain for any other dwarf. Treasures as ancient as Khazad-dûm, retelling tales of battles and heroics, of when the Lagân walked the earth.

But of course Thorin had not sent him there to marvel at the history of Middle Earth without purpose. In front of him are the replicas of the scrolls that he had prepared for prince Kili many moons ago now. And it is his task to translate those into modern runes that any dwarrow with a basic education can read. The instruction from the king was precise. The elves may teach him and assist him. But _he_ and only he is allowed to translate the scrolls.

He bites his lip as he stares again at the oddly curved symbols in front of him. That instruction is easier said than done, he had found. Istiel had been more than patient with him, but somehow her teachings would not stick in his head. Many of the symbols were inconsistent, changing beyond recognition from one text to another. And even after painstakingly redrawing each rune into Karthu ‘Urd that was only the first part and a long way still from actually making any sense of the ancient texts.  

And he is starting to realise that this royal assignment is not as easy as he had first thought. Time is ticking away and he is beginning to get anxious that he will not be able to complete the king’s instruction.   

***

Thorin lies still, not wanting to stir and wake his beloved. Kili is asleep on his chest, hair fanned out, warm breath massaging his skin and perking up his nipples. Gently he runs his hand through that mass of wild hair, down Kili's sleek, muscular back. Kili stirs a little, breathing in deeply for a moment, but then he settles again, burying his face against his chest once more.

He knows they should not be lying here like this. He knows that without Ori’s evidence that their love is not a heinous sin even just a kiss could cost them their heads, let alone lying here naked and entwined, soiled still in the aftermath of their love making from the night before.  

And yet if that was the price his people would make him pay for holding his Kili in his arms like this, he would pay it, for without his beloved his life is not possible anyway. These feelings the young dwarf prince stirs in him are the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given him. Each cheeky smile an explosion of pure joy. Each tentative yet eager touch pleasure beyond measure.

Their bodies are as familiar with each other now as their hearts are. Kili is no longer afraid to accept him inside him and their rhythmic movements now fall easily in sync as they both know what gives the other pleasure. After more than a hundred years of celibacy his hormones are achingly yearning to make up for lost time, thirsting for that physical togetherness. And between his own desires and Kili's youthful horniness they have not slept apart since the archer returned to his Halls, despite the risk they both know that carries.

But it is moments like these, of simply lying together, skin against skin, for a moment believing that nothing can harm them, for a moment not caring about anything else but just the two of them, that Thorin treasures more than anything.

His fingers thread locks of red-brown strands into rough curls as Kili shifts gently and finally opens his eyes.

“Bakn galikh, amrâlê,” the prince purrs, giving him a sleepy smile.

“Good morning my sweet beloved.”

“Everything alright?” Kili enquires as he gazes into the deep blue eyes of his uncle, brushing his fingers against his beard, which is now long enough to hold a small golden bead with an intricate design.  

“Kun, zabdûna-dashatê. Right now everything is perfect.”

Kili grins and pushes himself up to press his lips lazily against Thorin’s. “Thank you for allowing me to wake up here in your arms.”

It wipes the smile of Thorin’s face in an instant but he tries to hide it. “I will treat you as befits my One where I can, Kili. Let us pray that your friend returns soon so that we do not have to hide our love any longer.”  

“Yes,” Kili sighs. Ori has been gone for longer than he had hoped already. Perhaps he is simply being impatient as he finds hiding his feelings for Thorin in front of others is becoming harder each and every day. He tries not to let his frustration get the better of him and be grateful for what they do have. “Amrâlizu,” he murmurs against Thorin’s lips as he seeks another kiss. “I guess it is time to get up and play the guard again though,” he grumbles. And with that he rolls himself off his lover and begins to pull on his clothes.   

Thorin does not say anything as he watches Kili get dressed. There is nothing else to say; it's how things have to be for now. But he knows the façade is starting to wear both of them down. And he too hopes that the young priest who he had sent to Thafarsilafîn will soon return to his Halls with the evidence he needs to demonstrate to all that Kili is his blessing and should be honoured as such.  

***

Gorm looks around the temple in satisfaction. Many bucks have gathered here today. _There is hope for the Folk of Durin yet!_ he thinks. These dwarrow have for too long accepted these infidelic ways that Thorin practices. Their prayers have become sporadic, their festivals and celebrations centered around self-satisfaction and greed. They have forgotten their true meaning, the true devotion to Mahal and the history of their race. But he will remind his lost brethren, sons of Durin the Deathless. Too long has he stood back and watched the fallen kings destroy their old traditions, their lore and faith. He will help their people find their righteous path again, remind them that they are here to serve and please Mahal, the great and mighty Lord of the Anvil, first and foremost and to be true sons of Durin again.  

He smirks as he scans the gathered faces. Of course none from the royal house or Thorin's Council present here for the morning sermon. They have not attended communal prayers for as long as he can remember. Those heathens seem to think themselves above the call for prayer. Well, it will only make his job easier to show the people how unfaithful their leaders are.

He steps up to the altar, the gigantic statue of Mahal at his back, casting an intimidating shadow over those gathered here. And as he raises his arms wide to welcome the congregation, his deep voice calls, "My brethren! Sons of Durin, Mahal’s Welcome to the Forge of our Maker! Our Lord smiles upon all those gathered here today, his brave sons, and gives you his blessing."

He smirks as he listens to the excited murmurs around the room as he extends Mahal’s blessing.

"However," he continues after a moment, "look around you. Look whose places remain empty as we have gathered to pay our homage to our Maker. There are those who live in our midst, even those whom we honour and bow to, whom we look to for guidance and yet who are not here today. Mahal is displeased with those khazâd. With those who show no respect for the Mighty Lord of the Anvil. Those who give the faithful dwarrow of Khagal'abbad a bad name."

He watches in satisfaction as heads are turned from left to right and names are whispered between those gathered.

"I am fearful, kharâmê. I am fearful of the wrath of Our Lord. I am fearful of His anger as He sees His children take without thanks for what He has given us. I am fearful of His smite when He sees how His laws, as given to us by Father Durin, are ignored and broken." He raises his arms as he raises his voice. "Tell me, my brothers of the Anvil, ARE YOU FEARFUL?!"  

The whispers around the stone temple quickly rise in volume as the bucks look to each other for comfort, only to find uncertainty reflected back at them.

"Honourable Lord Gorm," one younger dwarf dares to raise his hand. "I am a warrior! I am fearless!" he says bravely, cheered on by some of his brethren.

Gorm narrows his eyes at the dwarf challenging him. "You fear not for your mortal soul? When you sacrifice your body in honourable battle, only to be turned away from Mahal's glorious halls upon death? You will risk damnation of your soul as Mahal dooms you to suffer eternal suffering in Angband? Because I tell you that Mahal has sworn that those who do not abide His rules, those who live their lives in sin, will never enter His Halls of Honour!"

“I do not live my life in sin. I Iive a good, honourable life,” the warrior replies a little defensively, although he is wary of the Highpriest. “I live by Mahal’s laws and I do my duty for our people.”

But Gorm shakes his head. "You've been deceived. We have all been deceived!” he addresses the gathering again. “We are all guilty. We have allowed the evil to slip in like a cockroach. To worm its way into our hearts and clouding our minds as once U’zan deceived the Clans Fathers with his wicked rings of evil!” He grins inwardly as the name of that great Evil sends a shudder through the gathering. “And now we must crush this pest before it becomes an infestation! We are warriors you say? And yet we allow our women to work in our forges! To sit at our council! Even to choose their mates at the festivals! Do you think the Mighty Mahal would see his honourable warriors rank below a dam, who has never wielded an axe on the battlefield?!"  

The crowd begins to mutter amongst themselves, initially in shock, but soon there are some mutters of doubt. And of possible agreement.

Then “He’s right!” an elderly dwarf shouts into the crowd. “In the days of King Thrór no dam sat at the King’s council. Mahal would not see us ranked so low!”

“King Thrór is dead,” another argues. “The old ways are dead. We answer to Thorin now. We have a responsibility to our new King,” the red-haired dwarf argues but this time with less certainty. _What if Gorm is right? He is Kehnar after all!_

“Your King?” Gorm smirks. “And where is your King now? Does the House of Durin not have to kneel down before Mahal? Is Uzbad Thorin above devotion and faithful service to Our Maker? Do we now allow Thorin to rewrite the laws of our people, the laws which were told to the great king Durin the Deathless by Mahal himself?! As were he one of the Great Kings of Old?”

He carefully tries to take the temperature in amongst the gathered congregation. He knows he has to be careful; he does not have to answer to the mortal king, but he knows he's not exempt from sedition laws and he is pushing the boundaries far; farther than he has ever done before in front of these simple folk. He watches the gathered bucks shift uncomfortably as they mutter amongst themselves and decides he's sown enough doubt to add a little more fuel to the warriors' fire, to fire up their pride as part of his plan.

"Mahal made us a strong and fierce race of warriors! For centuries armies fled before us at the mere mention of our battle cries! We fought at the great battles and we were victorious!" he punches his fist into the air and smiles when he watches the gathered do the same, seeing that spark alight and spread between them. "Mahal would see His warriors return to reclaim our homelands! Our birthrights! Khazad-dûm! Azsâlul'abad! The greatest kingdoms in Kamin!"

"Nâm!!!" a passionate roar rolls through the stone temple. “Shamukh Mahal!”

Soon the cheers arise from the dwarrow before him. “Shamukh Mahal, shamukh Mahal!” the chanting rolls through the Temple, increasing in volume until Gorm holds up his arms to silence the gathered crowd.  

"And yet... " Gorm pauses dramatically, “… we hide here in foreign lands. We were promised it was temporary. That we were gathering our strength, training the next generation of warriors, preparing for battle!" And he raises his voice again, booming over the heads of the now reeled up warriors, young and old. "And yet still we hide! Yet we still cower! And now our _king_ has forsaken our claim to return to what is ours!"

"We should fight!" someone shouts out.

"Yes, we should reclaim what is ours!"

"Oceans of riches lie in the East," Gorm reminds the dwarrow, reeling them on. "Dwarven gold, silver, jewels! Abandoned. Forgotten!"

"But what about Smaug?" someone challenges.

Gorm grins widely as he is given the cue he had been waiting for. "You are right! Smaug the Terrible! Smaug the Destroyer! A calamity sent upon us as punishment!"

Gasps flutter through the hall like an autumn wind. _Punishment?_

"That's right," Gorm grins dramatically. "For it was King Thrór who forsook Durin’s Law!”  

For a moment he thinks he has gone too far. The dwarrow were affluent and great under Thorin’s grandfather’s rule and it is a risky move. But he has gone down that road now and knows he has no choice but to carry on and hope that the fire he has stirred is enough to keep the others looking in the same direction. “Yes, he once was a Great King! But he grew fat from the trade with those who betrayed us. Those who have the blood of our people on their hands! He allowed men’s folk to settle on our lands. And for lembas-eaters to share in our riches!”

That is enough to send a wave of anger through the gathered crowd once more.

“And it was then that Our Lord sent his punishment, his warning! Our people burnt because of the decisions of the king. And I warn you! I warn you that it will happen again!”  

At that the anxiety and fear that pulses from those gathered is like a sparkling gem, glowing ever brighter.

"But fear not, brothers," Gorm says eventually when the anxiety has reached what he deems an acceptable level. "For I have prayed to Mahal for His guidance. And it is not too late! We can still avert his wrath. We can still repent for our sins and seek His blessing and forgiveness. So that we may feast at His side in His Great Halls when our time here is served."

"How, Kehnar?" someone at the back calls out.

"We must look to the south," Gorm smirks. "To our brothers who have found the righteous path again. Who apply to true word of Our Lord and honour His law! I say you demand this of your king! It is your right and his duty to lead us back towards the Durin’s True Law. And Mahal’s grace!"

Gorm catches the eye of Hár, cousin of Suthri’s advisor Hórth, who grins back in satisfaction as the dwarrow around them cheer. This is the dawn of a new era. They have paved the path. They have reminded the dwarrow of their duty to Mahal and the failures of Thorin and his Council.

 _Now we let this fire smoulder,_ he thinks as he listens to the chants _._ _We let the heat build up until it reignites by itself. Now we wait._

***

Bofur reluctantly enters the royal chambers, feeling somewhat nervous. It is the first time he has requested an audience with the king and he had been surprised to be asked to come to his lord’s private chambers, rather than be taken to one of the more official auditoriums.

“Come in!” the deep booming voice of Thorin sounds from behind the thick door after Bofur’s tentative knock.  

Bofur gathers his courage as he pushes open the heavy oaken door and steps into the large chamber beyond. His eyes quickly look around the space, taking in the grand and richly decorated fireplace, the beautifully inlaid tiles and carved columns that draw the eye further in toward the raised platform at the back of the room where the king is seated behind an enormous stone desk strewn with scrolls and parchment.  

As soon as his eyes meet Thorin’s, Bofur bows deeply, “Uzbad akrâgul.”

Kili steps forward to the visitor and pats him down, checking him for any weapons. “The King is tired. Make it quick,” he hisses in the dwarf’s ear, making sure that Thorin does not hear his statement as he would give him what for for telling his people of his weakness still. But he knows that although Thorin on the face of it has recovered, each night he can see the toll the day has taken on his lover. Still, considering how far Thorin had slipped away from them if he is to believe the words of his brother, it is a miracle Thorin is sat here taking audience at this late hour full stop.  

Bofur nods, stepping forward towards Thorin’s desk. So close up the dwarrow king looks even more intimidating than from afar, even if he does look a little wary.

“You wished to speak with me urgently,” Thorin states as he refers to the note that Balin had given him. _Bofur, son of Bolbur, says he has a matter of great importance to discuss. I advise you see him this evening._

Bofur swallows hard before he says firmly, “Indeed, Uzbadê. I have requested to see you about an ehm …” he finds himself losing his nerve as Thorin’s blue eyes pierce through him.

“About a what?” Thorin says calmly, when the nervous visitor does not continue. Although he wishes the dwarf to hurry his urgent message so that he may retire from his kingly duties for the night.

“An ehm … a challenge to your rule, Uzbadê,” Bofur almost whispers, shuffling his feet as he scrunches his hat up in his hands. “Treason,” he manages to find his voice and slowly looks up, getting to the point of his visit.

Anger flashes across Thorin’s face for a flicker of a second and he sits himself up a little straighter as he looks at the dwarf standing before him more closely. It has been a long day and he is tired, but the note from Balin had sounded sufficiently urgent and of importance for him to allow this late visitor to speak with him in his working quarters. Now he feels wide awake as this dwarf states the reason for his visit. “Treason, you say?” He watches Kili shift in the corner of his eye. “Be more clear. Where and what have you heard?”

Bofur swallows heavily, feeling trapped in a position that feels like it will end badly one way or another. And he prays silently that he has made the right choice to come here. “It … Well …” He coughs.

“Speak, Bofur, son of Bolbur,” Thorin says sternly this time. “You have made a serious accusation at this late hour and I need you to tell me who I should punish for a deed such as you describe.”

Bofur knows that it is late. It had taken him all day to find his courage to come here. He had tied himself in knots over what to do after what he had witnessed at that morning’s sermon. Not to speak to Thorin would make him complicit in the treasonous act, that side was clear enough to him. But by speaking out against Gorm, Mahal’s Kehnar … He feels like he is trading off his loyalty to Thorin, his king, for his eternal soul.   

But he is here now. He had made up his mind, feeling stronger in his loyalty to his warlord than in the threats that the Highpriest had uttered this morning. He had attended the sermon more as a social activity than out of devoutness in any case and was hardly what one would call a frequent visitor of the Temple. Like most dwarves he made his offerings to Mahal in private. But occasionally one could hear good gossip at such gatherings. And the ale that the priests used for their blessings was not bad either.

In any case he knows he cannot come back on what he has already said to the king. Neither can he stand here stuttering, wasting Thorin’s time. And so he says, “This morning I attended communal prayers at the Temple. Some things were said during that sermon that concerned me, my king. Words spoken against you and the House of Durin. The Kehnar … he said that you are not enforcing Durin’s Law and that Mahal is angry with us for it.”

As he finishes what is surely the most difficult few sentences he had ever spoken in his life, he wonders once more why he had not just told his conscience to keep quiet.

Thorin looks at the skinny dwarf with his elaborate moustache and braids and smirks. “Gorm? Gorm has had an issue with the House of Durin ever since my grandfather ruled Azsâlul'abad. Thrór made it quite clear that politics were his domain and prayer Gorm’s and the Kehnar never saw eye to eye with him or any of the House of Durin since. His ramblings are no news to me,” he dismisses the information, wishing for this citizen to go back to his own quarters so that he can finally take a hot bath and relax in the arms of his secret lover.

Bofur tries to hide his shock at Thorin’s quick dismissal. He had expected fury, disbelief, outrage! But not this casual waiver of his claim. And his shock is quickly followed by a sense of alarm. He has just accused the Highpriest of Mahal of treason and the king does not appear to even care!

“Your Highness, forgive me but I feel strongly that you must take this seriously. You did not hear how he spoke. Gorm put fear into the hearts of your people. He claims that it was King Thrór who brought the dragon upon us. That is was a punishment from Mahal. And that you will do the same to us.”

At that Thorin narrow his eyes. “Smaug is no servant of Mahal! Gorm suggests my word brings Our Lord’s wrath upon us and yet he claims that the Lord of the Anvil would be in league with such a monstrosity?! That he would bring death and destruction upon His own people?! How dare he make such a statement!”

“I …” Bofur shrinks under Thorin’s thunderous gaze. “Gorm means for your people to turn against you,” he says boldly, looking the king in the eyes. “By any means.”  

“My people are no fools!” Thorin growls back. “How many dwarrow were in the Temple this morning?”

Bofur considers this for a moment. “Sixty, perhaps more, uzbadê.”

Thorin rests himself back again, shaking his head. “A handful of disloyal dwarves who listen to the mad ramblings of an old priest do not concern me.”   

“My Lord, I only make such a claim because I am certain he is rallying your people against you,” Bofur presses, feeling quite desperate now to make Thorin believe him. “I would not disturb you at this hour if I did not feel the threat should be taken seriously. The bucks who were there this morning were cheering. They did not challenge his claims as you have just done, Thorin. They believed him, they welcomed his ideas!”

“Which are what?”

Bofur swallows. “Gorm wishes to see the dams removed from prominent positions in our society. He wants to see your sister and her advisors out of the Council. And, he wants us to declare war on the old kingdoms. To make the race of dwarves a force to be reckoned with once more. To defeat the enemies in the East and reclaim what is ours.”  

Thorin can see Kili is biting his lip to hold his tongue and throws him a cautioning look before he leans himself across his table. "And how does he intend to keep his promises? Which army does he command? Which powers does he hold in _my_ Council? At _my_ Court?!”

“I … I do not know …” Bofur lowers his head as Thorin raises his voice.

 _Suthri_ … This dwarf may not know. But suddenly the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to fall into place. _So this is what Gorm’s intentions are. To put Suthri onto the throne so that he has a royal puppet to do his bidding!_

“Do you believe that he would succeed in such an aim?” Thorin asks Bofur outright. “To turn my people against me?” Thorin narrows his eyes at the claimant in front of him.

“I wish to warn you, that is all, my lord. I am loyal to you, my king,” Bofur states firmly. “I am but a simple dwarf. But I feel that it is my duty to you to tell you what I heard.”

Thorin nods slowly. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I will see it dealt with,” he smiles curtly and motions for Kili to show the last visitor of the day the door.

The second the door falls shut again, Kili whirls himself around to face Thorin. “He’s manipulating them!”   

“Of course he is,” Thorin says as he shrugs himself out of his official mantle.

“He is in league with Suthri! If Suthri were somehow to overthrow you, Gorm would be all over him, whispering in his ear.”

“I know.”

Kili stares at Thorin who appears far too calm for his liking.

“Then what do we do?”

“We?” Thorin raises an eyebrow and closes the appointments book before him. “I am going to call my attendants. Have them run me a bath,” Thorin smiles, rubbing his tired eyes.

Kili stares at his lover in disbelief. “Thorin, are you taking this seriously?”

“I am. But there is nothing I can do at this hour. Besides …” He steps closer to Kili and brushes his hair back as he smiles into his beautiful face, “… we are waiting for Ori to return. It is not in our interest to declare war on the Godord right now, amrâlimê.”

“No, you are right. But nonetheless I would feel a lot better if you were shown to take this seriously. I am concerned Thorin. Gorm is clever and he is a strong orator. I have heard him preach before, seen him get everyone all riled up as he waves his arms about warning of the wrath of Mahal. Don’t leave this to fester, Thorin, for such poison is much harder to treat once it has spread.”  

“Alright,” Thorin sighs, a little irritated that his lover will not drop this matter, and yet impressed by his political savviness, “if it reassures you I will see you put some of my trusted spies out there to assess the truth in this buck’s words. But for all I know this Bofur is in league with that lecherous rat to try and unsettle me. Now,” he caresses Kili’s short beard again, rubbing his thumb along his bottom lip, “will you let it go for tonight? I wish to talk about more pleasurable matters than a mad old priest.”

Kili sighs too, knowing he is not going to win this fight. “Yes, I will for now,” he says, wrapping his arms around his beloved.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khagsmesemu Khazâd - Lit. Necklace of the dwarves. The Nauglamír, a famous piece of jewellery the argument over which is believed to be the start of the hostility between the dwarves and elves.  
> Karthu ‘Urd - Ereborian runescript  
> Bakn galikh, amrâlê - good morning, my love  
> Kun, zabdûna-dashatê - Yes, my queen's-son (a play on prince)  
> Amrâlizu - I love you  
> Nâm! - an exclamation of agreement  
> Shamukh Mahal! - Hail Mahal!  
> Uzbad akrâgul - honourable King  
> amrâlimê - love of mine


	42. Love and Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience my dear readers. HobbitCon and MCM London are now done and I am recovering from marathon cosplay making. If you are interested in my Thorin cosplay please visit Silver Fountains Cosplay https://www.facebook.com/Silver-Fountains-Cosplay-376340842551484/ . I have just finished Thorin's dragon sickness costume. Golden armour next, aaaaah!!!

“Are you alright, brother?” Fíli enquires as he and Kíli meet up the following morning for breakfast. “You look concerned.”

Kíli sighs. “No not really, Fee. Thorin had an odd visit last night,” he admits sitting on the chair next to his brother.

“An odd visit?” Fíli immediately feels himself turn to a high alert status after everything that had gone on recently. “What sort of visit? From whom?”

“From a buck called Bofur. He claims that Gorm is trying to turn the dwarves against Thorin. That he had been rallying him during the morning sermon. To overthrow him,” he says in a whisper. “I don’t think Thorin is taking it serious as a threat …” he adds with a sigh, grabbing a bread roll.

Fíli frowns at his brother. “Gorm is the Kehnar. He has no claim to the throne of the king. Why would he see Thorin overthrown?”

Kíli stills and looks at his brother intensely and then to their servants as they hover in the background. “We should not have this conversation here. We don’t know who we can and can't trust.” He grabs his brother’s arm and drags him out of the dining hall, whilst stuffing the bread roll in his pocket.

“Where are we going?” Fíli hisses as his brother, glancing back with regret at his abandoned breakfast, as Kíli keeps a fierce hold on his arms.

“Somewhere where we can talk.”

They weave through halls, winding deeper into the belly of the mountain. They know these halls like the back of their hands, every turn, every nook and cranny. This is their home, where they played hide and seek as khazdîth. Such happy memories. And for a moment Kíli hesitates and wonders if Thorin is right to want to remain here. It may not be like the old kingdom, going by the stories from their elders of wealth beyond imagination. But it is a stronghold that any dwarf lord could be proud of.

_But Thorin is not any dwarf lord! He is the heir of Durin. And it is Mahal’s will that he reclaims the Arkenstone._

“We have to go back,” he abruptly tells his brother, grabbing his arm again as they reach one of the lower sections that had not been in use since the First Age during the affluence of Gabilgathol.

“Alright. You want to talk to Thorin now?” Fíli shrugs at his brother’s apparent change of heart.

“No, I mean we need to go back to Azsâlul'abad. _He_ has to go back to the Lonely Mountain. Mahal has told me so.”

At that Fíli sighs and sinks himself down on what might once upon a time have been some elaborate statue but which is now merely a crumbled rock. “What is this with you and Mahal?” he growls.

“Pardon?” Kíli blinks at his brother.

Fíli’s eyes flare as he raises them to meet his brother’s. “Why has Mahal told you that we need to go to the Lonely Mountain? Why is He telling you anything for that matter? What makes you so special?” he snarls.

Kíli stares at his older brother dumfounded. He opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again. “I …” He sits himself down too, opposite his brother, keeping his eyes trained on that unusually tensed face.

“Well?” Fíli bites. He feels bad. It is not Kíli’s fault after all that for whatever reason Mahal has decided to favour his younger brother over him. But he cannot help the build-up anger. Not just about that. About everything. About Thorin’s unexplained illness that had put him under such pressure. About all of the growing tension between the House of Durin, Gorm and Zabad Suthri. About his confusing feelings over Dwalin …

“I guess it’s because …” But Kíli swallows what he was about to say before it passes his lips. _He cannot know. No-one can know about this! Especially not now!_

But Fíli is already on his feet and in his face. “Because what, Kíli? Because you are Thorin’s chosen one? And why should you befall such honour? Hm? What have you done that I have not done? Why do you deserve mahdulyusth and I don’t?!”

“I don’t know!!” Kíli snarls back now, rising to his feet also and grabbing his brother’s tunic. “Do you think I have asked for any of this?! Don’t you think I would not rather be _normal?!_ I don’t want to be _special!_ I don’t want to be a damned malkûn!!”

The brothers stare at each other with big eyes, both breathing heavily, Kíli’s fists still clasped around Fíli’s tunic.

“What do you mean, malkûn?” Fíli manages to bring out eventually.

Kíli abruptly lets go of his brother’s royal garment and turns himself away. “Forget I said it,” he mumbles hopefully, knowing full well that Fíli is not going to let that one go.

“Forget about it? No! What’s going on, Kíli?” the crown prince puts a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder and forces him to turn around. “What do you mean?” he presses firmly.

Kíli feels all the blood drain from his face under his brother’s intense gaze and he shakes his head. “You will hate me.”

“Hate you? Why? No! Kíli, you are nadadê! Why you say this?”

Kíli bites his lip as he feels himself crumble. “Dis … She … ‘Adadê …” he swallows hard as the words just will not come. “Fund,” he manages before he falls into his brother’s arms, fighting hard against his tears.

_Fund? Elf?!!_

Fíli runs his hands soothingly over his brother’s back as he tries to piece together the fragments that Kíli has stuttered at him.

_NO!_

As realisation begins to dawn on him he grabs Kíli by both shoulders and holds him back at arm’s length. “You’re saying … Are you saying that your father …” He shakes his head in disbelief. “No!”

“See!” Kíli gasps. “You hate me! You said you wouldn’t, but you do! Now that you know the truth!” he desperately tries to hold back his emotions.

“I don’t hate you!” Fíli wildly shakes his head again. “Never! But this … Really? By Mahal’s glorious beard, Kíli, is this true? But … how?!”

At that Kíli almost smirks. “Surely I do not have to explain to you how dwarves mate, my brother?”

Fíli feels himself flush at that. “N-no. But … an elf … I did not think that was possible!”

“Well, clearly it is!” Kíli frowns, flopping back down again as he buries his head in his hands. “So don’t you stand there shouting at me how special and privileged I am!” he growls low in his throat. “I am barely a dwarf,” he adds in a pained whisper.

“Oy!” Fíli sits himself next to his baby brother and puts his arm around him. “You _are_ a dwarf. I am so sorry, Kíli, I should not have said those things. I was just jealous.”

“Well I guess you are not now that you know the truth!” Kíli shrugs.

“I … Does Thorin know this?” Fíli asks carefully, struggling to digest the idea that his half-brother’s father could truly be an elf.

“No!” Kíli’s head shoots up, alarmed. “And you cannot tell him! You must not tell him!”

“I won’t, nadnith,” Fíli soothes, understanding Kíli’s concern too well. “Course I won’t. If you want to tell him, that is for you to do.” _I really do not envy your position, brother,_ he adds in his head.

“Never,” Kíli shakes his head resolutely. “He can never know about the blood inside me. He will disown me. Have me killed!”

Fíli swallows. He wants to offer reassurance. Wants to tell Kíli that of course Thorin will do no such thing, because he loves Kíli more than anything in the world. But he finds that he is not so sure how Thorin would react to _this_ news. His hatred for the elvenkind runs deep. Fíli had seen this first hand when they travelled through Thafarsilafîn.  Would he really be able to accept Kíli, his nephew, second in line to the throne and his soulmate, if he knew that his blood is not pure?

“Maralmizu ins 'atsu.” _I love you as you are._

 Kíli slowly raises his eyes to meet the familiar calm blue pools of his brother. “Do you mean that?”

“Kun,” Fíli states resolutely. “You are my little brother. Who your father is does not change anything.” He puts an arm around Kíli as the other sinks into the comforting embrace. “Is that why you went back to the elves?” Fíli asks carefully. “To see your father?”

But Kíli shakes his head. “I did not know about him. It was the elves who told me. Apparently I'm quite famous amongst them,” he snorts. “They consider halflings a gift from the Lagân.”

“And I guess that they are right,” Fíli states without the angry undertone of earlier now. “A very special child of the gods indeed. I'm sorry brother I took my frustrations out on you. I guess some days I feel like we're all so preoccupied with what's between you and Thorin that I feel a little… I dunno,” he shrugs, suddenly feeling embarrassed about his childish jealousy.

“A little what?” Kíli frowns when his brother does not continue,

“Undervalued I guess,” Fíli lets his head hang. “Thorin favours you. Mahal favours you.”

Kíli frowns at that, “I had no idea you felt like that. Thorin does not favour me. We're in love. But he loves you differently. He is so proud of you, Fíli. Of how you took charge during his illness. You are his heir, Fee. The first born. I will never be that. And as for Mahal… I'm not sure that there is anything to be jealous off. I'm sick of riddles and foretellings. I don't want to be His messenger,” he admits hoping that Mahal will understand he means no insult by that.

“So why does He want Thorin to reclaim the Lonely Mountain?” Fíli asks, feeling a little reassured by Kíli’s words and glad to have this all out in the open.

“I'm not sure. These messages are all so vague,” Kíli sighs in frustration. “Do you ever get the feeling, Fee, that nothing that we do is of our own free will? That we're all just pieces in some divine game the Lagân are playing?”

Fíli considered this. He did not think about Mahal and the gods as much as Kíli seemed to do. Of course their lives were in the hands of the Lagân. Every dwarf’s fate ultimately was at the mercy of Mahal. “I don’t know,” he shrugs, unsure what else to respond and worried that he may offend the Lord of the Anvil with whatever he says.

“Did you meet him though? Your father?” he asks after a moment of silence between them, trying to change the subject to something somewhat less grand than the fate of dwarvenkind.

“No,” Kíli sighs. “They don’t know where he is. He left for the East but, no-one has heard from him for years. Lord Nowë told me about him though as did ‘amad.” He looks at his brother. “I think she really loved him.”

“Loved him?” Fíli repeats, unable to keep the shock and surprise out of his voice. “You mean as in … mahdulyusth?”

But Kíli shrugs. “I don’t know.” He looks at his brother. “I think … Perhaps our people do not really understand _love_.”

At that Fíli furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“There seem to be so many rules. Because of the _blessing._ It is like love has become so enormous that it appears only the most heroic, the most honourable amongst us could ever earn such a treasure. But as you say, Fíli, what have I done that you have not done? Is it really that Mahal only blesses those of us whom He favours? Or have we misinterpreted His guidance? When we _think_ we have found love have we become too afraid to say it, because we worry we might be wrong? That we may cause insult or to claim honour above others? Have we become blind to the love that all of us can have for fear of the Godord?”

Fíli stares at his brother speechless for a moment. “I don’t understand. You of all dwarves … Thorin is your blessing! What are you saying?”

“You know how I feel about the Godord,” Kíli breathes heavily through his nose. “They would see Thorin and I destroyed for the love we have. I no longer believe that they speak Mahal’s word, brother. And I believe that Mahal allows us to love in many ways, even if the Kehnar tells us that such love is wrong and sinful. I think we need to listen to what Mahal tells us directly.”

Fíli thinks about this. His brother’s words sound impressive, if not scary. But, “And how do we do that, brother? When He does not speak to most dwarves like He speaks to you.”

At that Kíli smiles. “I think you already know the answer to that, brother.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you love him,” Kíli adds less subtly when his brother does not say it.

“Uh? What?” Fíli blinks hard, not daring to give anything away. _Can that really be?_

“Dwalin. I can see how you look at him. And how he looks at you. What more are you expecting as a confirmation that he is your One, brother?”

“I … I don’t know,” Fíli stutters.

“Mahal has already given you His blessing, brother,” Kíli smiles into his brother’s shocked face. “It’s in here.” He lays his hand across Fíli’s chest, over his heart.

Fíli shivers under his brother’s words and touch. “Y-you think that Dwalin is my One?”

“Do you?” Kíli bounces back.

Fíli dares barely breath as he whispers, “Yes.”

Seeing his brother’s face light up as he comes to this realisation brings Kíli’s out in a wide smile also. “Then I congratulate you, nadadê, on your blessing,” Kíli pats his older brother’s back. “You’d best go and tell mahdulyasthûnzu,” he winks.

***

Dwalin looks up as he hears the door open. He puts down the axe he was sharpening and smiles at his young lover. “Hello wee prince. What brings you down here?” he enquires, wiping his hands before he wraps them around Fíli.

“We need to talk,” the crown prince states as soon as his lips move away from Dwalin’s.

“Sure. What has ye worried?” Dwalin looks into the clear blue eyes before him and furrows his brow.

 _Where to begin?!_ Fíli wonders. “Do you …” he finds his voice failing and has to clear his throat and try again. “Are you … I …”

Dwalin frowns at Fíli’s stuttering. Normally his lover is not so shy with his words; after all he has been brought up by Thorin, who is a strong orator and had never tolerated his heirs to fumble with their words. “Say what it is ya have to say,” he encourages, becoming more worried by the moment. “Did I do sommat wrong?” he suddenly worries.

“Wrong? No!” Fíli laughs softly at his strong lover’s worried look. “Not at all. Alright,” he takes a deep breath to put his thoughts and words in order as Thorin had taught him. “Kíli speaks to Mahal. He always has, for as long as I remember.” He hesitates for just a moment of whether to tell Dwalin about Kíli’s father, but just as quickly he dismisses that thought. It is too soon and too big to just blurt that out without thought.

“Hm, the line of Durin has always had a strong connection with Mahal,” Dwalin muses when his lover does not immediately continue. “But the gift to speak with Mahal has faded as generations past.” Dwalin knew that as well as Thorin. It had been part of their teachings as khazdîth.

Fíli nods. “Kíli’s gift appears strong though. And he said something to me today. He said that he believes Mahal is more generous than the Godord makes us believe. With … love.”

“Love?”

 _Oh damn!_ Fíli begins to panic as either Dwalin is slow to catch up on his meaning or he really does not feel the same way.

“Amralizu,” he suddenly throws the word out, tensing as he awaits his lover’s response.

To his utter relief the warrior grins the widest grin he has ever seen on his face as he scoops him into his arms. “Aye! Amralizu ya!” the tall dwarf beams as he gleams with joy.

“Really? You really?” Fíli gasps. “You really think Mahal has given us His blessing?”

Dwalin puts his royal lover back onto his feet and cups his face. “Be it Mahal’s wish or no, my sweet wee prince, I love you. I need no blessing from the gods to tell ya that.” And he presses his lips against Fíli’s, pulling him against him.

When he finally releases him, however, he sees a flicker of worry cross Fíli’s face. “I thought ye’d be happy …” he says, a little concerned and admittedly disappointed.

“Kun, I am! Oh Dwalin, I am so very happy with you!”

“Then what? There’s sommat else.”

“Aye. Something is amiss,” Fíli sighs. “Something is stirring amongst the Fahamân.” He looks into Dwalin’s sparkling eyes. “Well, _someone_ I should say …”

Dwalin gives his young lover a kiss, “What is amiss?” His feels his brow tense into a deep frown once more.

“Gorm,” Fíli blurts out, biting his lip. “I know Thorin and he have never seen eye to eye. And obviously those relations have been strained even more recently. But, well … apparently he has been saying things in the temple. Whipping the bucks up into a frenzy over Mahal’s displeasure with Thorin’s rule and laws.”

Dwalin thinks about this. _Would not put it past the wicked old dwarf._ He thinks back to the history of the Durin line with the priests and how king Thror used to spit venom about the then young and eager highpriest whenever he tried to interfere in his decision making.“How do you know this, my prince?” he asks running his fingers through Fíli’s golden locks.

“Kíli told me that some dwarf sought audience with Thorin last night. To warn him. Bofur I think Kíli said his name was. But Thorin dismissed this buck’s warning. Says we should not question the loyalty of our people. One side of me tells me that Thorin knows what he is doing. But there is just something niggling. After what happened between him and Gorm. And it is not just him. There is Lord Suthri also. I … I cannot put my finger on it, but Kíli was genuinely concerned and thinks that Thorin was too quick to completely dismiss this one.”

Dwalin is surprised by Thorin’s ignorance. _I know Bofur, he is a good and reliable dwarf. He would not worry Thorin with something like this if he didn’t think it was serious,_ he thinks and can hear alarm bells ring in his head. “I think Kíli has every right to be concerned. Bofur would not lie about something so important as this.”

"You know this dwarf?" Fíli asks in surprise.

“Yes,” Dwalin nods, “he is an old friend. His father was Ukrag in king Thror’s army and served me father loyally in those years. I have known Bofur for a long while, even though we have not seen each other much since we settled here.”

"Would you speak to him? Please, Dwalin? Find out the truth. I hate to say this behind Thorin’s back, but I think we have to be careful to trust his judgement completely until we have all the facts." He bites his tongue, nor wishing to speak bad of his king or uncle.

Dwalin pulls his love even closer. “Aye, I will talk to him. Maybe Bofur is mistaken.” He pulls Fíli close again, throwing a quick look around. “But first … is Thorin expecting you any time soon?”

Fíli feels a wicked smile slide across his face as he shakes his head, making his moustache braids bounce playfully.  

“Then I’d very much like to honour Mahal’s blessing,” Dwalin purrs in the prince’s ear, before sweeping him off his feet once more.

***

Dwalin pushes the pint towards his old friend. "It's been a long while," he nods his head to the other dwarf as he offers him a seat by the fire.

Bofur takes a large swig from the ale offered to him. “Aye, it has,” he says a little unsurely as he glances around the private chamber of the head of the royal guard and the king’s military advisor. He has a pretty good idea what has made the warrior request a meeting with him, but decides to not bring his conversation with the king up first. “So how have you been keeping?”

"Very well," Dwalin grunts. "But let's not pretend we’re here to talk niceties. I have always thought ye to be a loyal honest buck, Bofur. I know ya went to see the king the other night and I also know that Thorin gave ya little speaking time. Tell me, both as a friend and as the king's advisor, what do y’know of Gorm's little games?"

Bofur takes another swig, not feeling comfortable with repeating this story. But he knows that this has already gone way beyond his control. “He wishes to stir trouble between the house of Durin and the rest of the dwarven community. I do not know what gripe the Kehnar has with the King but I believe it is serious alright. I know you are friendly with the king, Dwalin. Maybe he will listen to you.”

"There has been tension between the Godord and the Royal House of Durin for centuries. What makes this different?” Dwalin pushes for more. “Thorin does not take the warning serious because Gorm has no influence outside the Temple.” He leans himself a little forward, trying to build some rapport with the other dwarf. “I think he misjudges Gorm and his power. Y’re closer to the common khuzd. What do you think?"

Bofur hesitates for a moment. Speaking ill of the highpriest for a second day running is making him jittery.

 “I think Thorin’s people are loyal to him. But I also think that they fear for their immortal soul more than they fear Thorin’s wrath.”

“What do you mean?” Dwalin looks closely at the dwarf in front of him. “What is Gorm saying about Thorin?”

“That he will bring wrath and ruin upon us,” Bofur swallows under the intimidating stare. “Like his grandfather before him. He says that the dragon was sent by Mahal to punish the House of Durin for not listening to the guidance of the Godord.”

Dwalin's features contort into a deep frown. "The people have never turned against their king before, not even when Thrór began to lose his mind. Only a descendant of Durin can rule the Longbeards. What does Gorm hope to gain from this?"

“I don’t know. He tells them to look to the south, to our brothers.” Bofur looks  deep into his friend's eyes, his own uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t know what he plans to do. As you say even if he sought to dethrone Thorin only a Durin can challenge him to it,” Bofur shrugs a little helplessly.

 _Suthri!_ Dwalin puffs furiously on his pipe. He knows he needs to keep his thoughts to himself. The scandal of Thráin has been a long kept secret and as far as he knows he and his brother are the only ones still alive who know the truth, aside Thorin and Suthri.

He looks at his old friend again. "What is Gorm promising the bucks? I've been in this job for long enough, friend. Regardless of Gorm’s strategy, the dwarrow do not turn on their leader without a promise that life would be better for them if they did.”

“A promise of a change in laws,” Bofur says, looking into the fire.

"What laws? What change?" Dwalin growls. "Come on mate, y'know I like things put to me plainly. The dwarrow have it good under Thorin. What do they wish for that their king will not give them?"

“He wants to bring back Dumsel,” Bofur raises his eyes to meet Dwalin’s.

“Dumsel? But the dwarves have not lived under religious law since the Second Age!” Dwalin cries in outrage. “The House of Durin and the Temple of Mahal have been segregated since Durin the Third received the Ring of Power!” Dwalin had never taken as much interest in the lore of their ancestors as his scholarly brother did, but these were facts that most every dwarf knew about and certainly one of the line of Durin.

Bofur shrugs helplessly. “Gorm stirs that the House of Durin does not attend the daily prayers. And that includes yerself, Dwalin,” he says softly, a little afraid of the bigger dwarf. “He suggests the king is going mad. That he suffers the same sickness his grandfather had. And he speaks of the lonely mountain, blaming the Durin line for the loss and says that Thorin is cowering in his fortress when he should be gathering forces to claim back what is ours. He is fuelling their pride. And he wants the Temple to have influence once more in the rulings of the king’s affairs.” He can feel himself getting irritated with the questioning when no-one seems to be taking him seriously anyway. “Look Dwalin, I may not be a serious dwarrow but I am serious about this.”

Dwalin rubs his hand over his thickly braided beard and nods to his friend. "I know y’are. Thank ye for talking to me." He pours the other dwarf another tankard full. "I will speak to Thorin. Now tell me, how have y’been?"

_+++_

Thorin sighs when Dwalin appears in the doorway and makes a point of continuing to write without looking at his friend. "I'm busy," he states curtly. "Come back later."

Dwalin enters the room despite the king's request to be left alone. “This is important Thorin,” he says walking up to the desk. “And you need to listen to me.”

Thorin stills his pen and looks up slowly, narrowing his eyes. "You forget your place, friend," he says in a neutral tone. "I will judge what is important and I will listen when I have finished this. Now be gone."

Dwalin moves the papers in one swift movement, smudging the last runes that Thorin had drawn. “You need to listen to me now. This is not something that can wait,” he says, looking into his friend’s eyes. He can see the anger burning behind them, but he continues nonetheless. “I have spoken to the dwarf Bofur. He is a trusted dwarf and is certain Gorm is in allegiance with Suthri.”

Thorin stares at Dwalin for a moment, feeling his anger flare at the way the other is talking to him; at the audacity of him interfering. "Thank you, Dwalin," he hisses through gritted teeth. "You are excused." He signs for the other to leave as per his order as the reaches for his papers again.

“Are you that pig-headed you cannot see?” Dwalin growls, leaning himself across Thorin’s desk, breathing in his face. “He wants to dethrone you! He wants to put Suthri on the throne and bring back Dumsel!”

Thorin jumps to his feet, knocking over his chair which clatters onto the floor as he slams his knuckles down onto the table. "Are you threatening me?!" he growls back at Dwalin. "Are you saying I do not know what goes on in my own home?! MY kingdom?!”

Dwalin glares at his friend, trying to stay calm but struggling in the fact of Thorin’s obstinacy. “Of course I am not. I am doing _my_ job,” he points out. “If that leech intends to make an attack on you then it is _my_ duty to warn you. Especially since you appear to be too blind to see what they are planning and too arrogant to listen to the advice you have been given!”

Kíli comes rushing into the king’s chambers, alarmed by the shouting and crashing. He races to Thorin’s side, hand on hilt, but freezes when he finds his uncle and Dwalin staring at each other in a battle of wills.

“Thorin?” he asks, but his lover holds his hand up to him not to interfere.

“I know full well what Gorm and Suthri’s intentions are. And if you have proof beyond doubt that either of them acting _ultra vires_ then arrest them for treason!” He narrows his eyes further at his old friend, prodding his finger into his broad chest. “But I need more than the whispered words of one merry dwarf! Do you really think your little friend will stand up in court to condemn the Kehnar, Mahal’s representative on Kamin, to death?!” he growls, knowing full well that no dwarrow in their right mind would do something like that. “I suggest you go away and come back with something more solid than the gossip of a drinking buddy before you accuse one of my Zabbad and the Kehnar of usurpation. Now leave or I will have you arrested instead!” he bellows.

"You stubborn old fool," Dwalin snarls, "It is not just your hide you risk!" he slams his fist down on the table before storming off.

Thorin looks at Kíli who just glares back at him in anger and then turns his back, without a word storming off also and slamming the door behind him.

With an angry sigh Thorin turns to pick up the chair he had knocked over and sits himself down, looking at the spoilt papers, blotches of ink spreading across the parchment. He feels a rage boil up inside him and screws up the now ruined papers in his large hands, chucking the ball across the room into the fire. “You are the fool!” he shouts after his long-gone friend. “What do you expect me to do? March up to the temple and accuse Mahal’s chosen one of treason?! My back is against the wall; why can you not see that?!”

Kíli lies on his bed, listening to his beloved rage. Normally he would have gone out there and tried to comfort Thorin, but he is angry with him. _You are making excuses! Damn it, Thorin, you are the king! Use your influence like he uses his! Go out there and reassure the people rather than sit and hide here behind your ledgers and your scrolls. For once will you just listen to those around you or you might as well do away with all of your advisors if you will only listen to the voices in your own head, you stubborn dwarf!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malkûn – halfling. Nb. According to the dwarrowscholar this is also the dwarvish word for Hobbit, however, I disagree on this point since hafling was used by men in reference to a hobbit’s size. Since they are not that much shorter than dwarves (average 3 ft 6 in compared to 4 ft 6 in for dwarves) that reference does not make any sense. Instead I would expect dwarves to refer to hobbits as something like zanâtulbasnûn – hairy-feet-men, since dwarvish names for animals and the like are often descriptions of their physicality.  
> Fund – elf (polite form)  
> Nadnith - little/ young brother  
> Maralmizu ins 'atsu - this is an interesting sentence because it sees two unusual grammatical forms. Firstly maralmi is the perfect tense of amrali. Normally we use amrali for I love as this is a changeable state, not a fact. The fact that Fíli here uses maralmi is to make a point specifically to his brother that nothing can change his love for his brother. It’s unquestionable, unchangeable. As for ‘atsu - you are - normally in khuzdul we do not use a present tense form of to be. E.g. E khuzd - I am a dwarf. Here ‘atsu is used to explicitly emphasize the state of being.   
> Fahamân - shortened reference to the dwarves of the Northern Blue Mountains  
> Ukrag - honorer. (from the equivalent Norse drengr) - free dwarf who holds a partly military and partly servile form of tenure  
> Dumsel - lit. Law of laws (ultimative form). Can also be translated as Judgement or Doom. A law that overarches both the Temple Laws and the Common Laws of the King, i.e. one that allows the Godord to have a say in the execution of law enforcement and in particular the punishment laid down. 
> 
> Other political terms :  
> Ultra vires (Latin) – lit. beyond powers. Acting ultra vires means acting beyond one's legal power or authority.  
> Usurpation - taking someone's power or property by force.


	43. Blowing off Steam

As Dwalin crashes through the door of his chambers, face contorted in anger, Fíli does not have to second guess that the conversation with Thorin did not go well. He gets to his feet as Dwalin lets himself fall heavily into a chair, silently kicking off his boots. “Would you like some ale?” he asks tentatively. Even though they're lovers now, seeing Dwalin this riled up makes Fíli feel like a wary khazdith around his fierce weapon master once more.

“Stubborn goat!” Dwalin snarls. “Thinks he knows best! What’s the point?!”

Fíli slowly lays his hands on Dwalin’s tense shoulders and begins to rub his muscles with his thumbs.  “I take it he did not listen to your advice?” he says carefully.

“Hmmm,” Dwalin grumbles as he closes his eyes and lets his young lover move the tension from his shoulders. “I’m not sure what else Thorin expects me to tell him. Gorm is a snake but he is not stupid. He is hardly going to shout in Thorin’s face that he has started an uprising and intends to put Suthri on his throne.” He suddenly whips his head around, almost making Fíli yelp in surprise. “Did you know he wants to bring back Dumsel?!”

“Dumsel?” Fíli blinks, feeling like he has missed something important. “What is _dumsel_?” he asks a little unsurely. He does not want to look stupid, but Dwalin had made it clear enough that he should just say it if he does not know something.

Dwalin turns himself around and takes Fíli’s hands in his. “In the first and second age the dwarves were governed by the Godord. The King and the Kehnar were one and the same. _That_ is what Gorm wants. He does not want to have influence at Thorin’s court. He wants total control.” He gazes intensely at Fíli.

Fíli takes a deep breath. “Then what do we do?”

“Tomorrow we will speak with Balin. You and I. And maybe Kíli. If Thorin will not take action, then we must.”

“And do what? We cannot just accuse the Kehnar of plotting against the King!”

Dwalin breathes heavily through his nostrils. He has no answers. He is not paid to have the answers, just to give warning. It is Thorin’s job to decide what to do with that information!  But, “I will not sit here and let that creepy traitor get his way! I will march south to tell Suthri exactly what I think of his schemings!” he growls.

Fíli smirks. He finds it kind of arousing to hear Dwalin speak so fiercely. But he has spent long enough under Thorin’s wing to understand that one cannot simply go around and wield axe at those who speak unwelcome words. Thorin is not stupid and Fíli feels sure that his uncle has a plan.

“I guess,” he decides to change the subject for now, “you did not get a chance to mention about us?”

At that Dwalin’s face softens instantly. “Not yet, wee prince.” He pulls his prince onto his lap and runs his hands into his golden locks. “I will not waste such precious words on Thorin when he will not listen. We will tell him together when he has come to his senses.”

“So we do not make it official yet?” Fíli raises a surprised eyebrow. He knows like any dwarf that such a blessing should be announced and properly celebrated!

But Dwalin’s rough fingers caress his cheek tenderly. “Mahal’s honour will not walk away. I am devoted to you, wee prince. No-one needs to tell me that I am bound to you. There is only one for me, my prince.”

“Aw, you are so sweet,” Fíli feels himself melt.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone,” Dwalin grins wickedly before pulling his young love into a fierce kiss.

+++

“Are you angry with me?”

Thorin softly closes the door behind him and looks over at Kíli who is lying on his bed with his back to him, not stirring.

“Kíli?” Thorin takes a step forward when his lover ignores him. When he still gets no response he sits himself down on the edge of the bed, sighing deeply. “What will you have me do then?”

Kíli slowly turns himself around, scowling at Thorin from under his dark eyebrows. “You are the _king!_ And yet you sit here whilst that traitor turns your people against you!”

“I cannot speak out against the Kehnar!” Thorin feels his own face twist into a frown. “He is untouchable! Kíli,” he urges, grabbing his lover’s face in his hands, “there is too much at stake right now. We must wait until the scholar returns. Then we shall have proof that the Temple is not infallible. That their laws are flawed. I will not risk it all now. I will not risk _you_ now.”

“And Suthri?”

“I have sent an infiltrator,” Thorin reassures. “I need proof of his treason and once I have that I shall bring him to justice. You must trust me, amrâlimê.”

Kíli looks into Thorin’s grey blue eyes, looking for the reassurance he so desperately needs. “Alright,” he nods eventually. He cannot be angry at Thorin for long. Those intense eyes under those dark eyebrows make his insides melt no matter how hard he tries to remain stubborn in his frustration with Thorin’s passiveness.  He runs his hands into the king’s dark locks. “I have missed you,” he sighs and finds himself relax into the warmth of his beloved’s arms as he is pulled close.

“I missed you too.” Even despite the new arrangements they had both been so busy that they had hardly had any time for each other. “I regret that I have spent so little time with you like this. I do not want us to argue and I intend to make it up to you tonight,” Thorin says softly, running the back of his fingers along Kíli’s neck. “No more worries for tonight, my beautiful prince. Just pleasure.”

Kíli tilts his head to the side, feeling his lover place butterfly kisses along his neck. He smiles at the loving gesture which contrasts so starkly with Thorin’s stubborn mood from before. He turns himself to face him and searches for his mouth, pressing their lips together gently to start with, enjoying the warm of his strong lover pressed against him.

Thorin slowly rolls Kíli onto his back and runs his fingers underneath his tunic. “You are so lovely,” he whispers and wriggles himself down and presses kisses on his lover’s stomach, brushing his beard across his soft flesh, feeling Kíli’s body hair tickle his nose.

Kíli lays his head back in the pillows enjoying the delightful tender caresses of his lover. “Amralizu,” he sighs, a smile curled around his lips.

“I never thought I would hear someone say those words to me,” Thorin whispers against hot sunburnt skin. Then he realises his admission and suddenly feels silly and unworthy. “I had … I was ... “ He sighs and rolls onto his back.

But Kíli leans over and presses his lips against his beloved’s again. He strokes his hand along Thorin’s broad chest and lets it rest above his heart. He feels the quickened heartbeat under his fingertips and as they break away he leans his head down and places a kiss over his heart. “You waited for me. You are my One. You are everything to me.”

Thorin smiles a sad smile. “And yet I cannot honour you the way I should,” he growls softly in frustration. “I wish to shower you in riches. To have you sat by my side rather than hide in my shadow.”

He yelps as Kíli teases his hand under his tunic and tweaks his nipple softly.

“Shh, no more talk of that tonight. Tonight is about us,” Kíli says softly, rolling the hardened nipple between his fingertips. He brings his head under the tunic and licks along the sensitive bud.

Thorin groans and closes his eyes again, pressing his head back in the pillows as the sensation of Kíli’s warm tongue over his peak makes him tingle all over. “Good …” he whimpers as his nephew moves the wet warmth to his other nipple whilst his fingers continue to play with the abandoned nipple.

Kíli slowly moves his lips down Thorin’s torso, gentle brushing his lips against his lover’s hot skin. He moves his hand to the cords of Thorin’s breeches, pulling them lose. And he gently slides his hand down inside the garment until he brushes against the hot hardness inside.

Thorin’s breath hitches as he feels the touch against his hard member. “Oh Kíli, the things you do to me,” he utters as the prince wraps his hand around his shaft. His fingers are curling around the furs on his bed as the archer’s nimble fingers slowly begin to stroke along his length.

Kíli smiles up at his lover, pulling his trousers further open, then slowly takes his hardened member into the heat of his mouth. He wraps his lips around the soft tip and begins to suck and lick at Thorin’s weeping cock, all the while looking up through his long eyelashes, taking in the beautiful sight of Thorin’s flushed skin and the pleasure painted in his widened pupils.

“Oh Mahal, Kíli!” Thorin whimpers, staring down his body as Kíli licks around the rough edge of his cockhead. “That is … that’s so …!” he whips his head back as he squeezes his eyes shut, the wet heat enveloping his sensitive parts. His fingers slide in Kíli’s wild locks of dark hair, guiding him gently down his length as the vulgar noises spilling from his lips become increasingly incoherent.

Kíli bobs his head along his lover’s length. Every noise that he makes sends a thrill of delight through him. He slowly laps his tongue along Thorin’s slit, tasting his salty sweet precum, and brings his hands up to Thorin’s sack, rubbing his stones gently with his fingertips.

“Kíli!” Thorin growls suddenly as the sensations rapidly forces him towards his peak. “Kíli, stop …” He swallows hard, torn whether to let his lover finish him like this, but equally wanting to be joined with him. “Mamahmarrulmâ,” he manages to force from his lips, trying so hard not to lose it.

Kíli gasps at the phrase which sounds so poetic and so erotic in Thorin’s deep rumbling voice. He slowly removes his lips from his lover’s cock and takes his hand in his. “Yes, Thorin, make love with me,” he says, placing a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand.

Thorin nods and fights with his clothes for a little while, cursing himself for not letting his attendants help him disrobe before he made his way to Kíli’s rooms. By the time he has removed the layers of royal robes he grins as he finds the brunet beaming back at him, laid out on the bed naked as he teasingly runs a finger down his own chest towards his hardness. Thorin gasps as he looks at the display before him. “You are the most beautiful treasure …” he swallows. “Mountains of gold fade into oblivion compared to you.” And he rolls himself possessively on top of his prince.

Kíli laughs softly at his beloved's mouthful of words and runs his finger through his thick long curls. “My handsome king,” he smiles placing a kiss to Thorin’s lips hidden underneath his moustache.

Thorin purrs little words of endearment, tracing his hands down Kíli’s torso as he moves his pelvis against his lover’s, rubbing his pulsing need against his beloved’s sword.

Kíli gasps at the friction of Thorin’s rod against his own and he threads his legs around Thorin’s, enjoying the coarse hair against the bottom on his feet. “Take me, Thorin. I want you inside of me.”

Thorin grins and moves himself so that he can access his sweetheart. He brushes two thick fingers against his entrance, slowly penetrating his prince’s heat. “My blessed One,” he whispers, taking Kíli’s mouth with his, dominating his tongue as he tastes the younger dwarf while he prepares him, feeling around his soft channel.

Kíli whimpers as Thorin scissors his fingers inside him until his entire body vibrates like the strings of his violin.

“Can you take me?” Thorin whispers against his lips, knowing that he has not given Kíli much time to get used to him, but wanting to take him so badly it hurts. “Will you have me?”

“Please, zarlûnê _,_ ” Kíli grunts softly, letting his legs fall open wider.

Thorin kisses his sweetheart’s lips again and makes to replace his finger with his manhood, slicking himself lavishly with oil. He strokes his large hands over Kíli’s strong thighs, admiring the tensing of those muscles under his touch. He holds his cock in his fist as he moves the tip to nudge against Kíli’s pliant entrance. “You are so very beautiful like this. Inviting me in.”

“I am so willing for you, my king,” Kíli pants, his own hand grabbing at his pulsing cock.

The prince groans deep in his throat as he is stretched along Thorin’s thick length, pain and pleasure rapidly becoming one explosion of sensations.

Thorin briefly closes his eyes as Kíli’s heat grabs him, pulling him into that delicious forge. When he opens them again he finds Kíli beaming back at him, flushed with arousal, his cock lying heavy between them. “You are amazing,” Thorin whispers, lying himself forward to press a wet kiss on Kíli’s lips, the movement causing them both to moan simultaneously.

Kíli mewls when Thorin moves himself, dragging his thick cock against all his sensitive places. Encouraged by his beloved’s sounds of love and delight, Thorin rolls his hips, pounding himself slowly but forcefully inside the younger dwarf’s sleek body. Every drag of his member inside that soft heat makes him shiver. The look of deep passion and pleasure in Kíli’s dark eyes makes him want to be like this - joint, one - forever.

“Thorin, yes. That’s … so good,” Kíli pants. Heat pulses through every inch of his body as his channel feels so incredibly full and yet so perfectly stretched around Thorin’s sword. He wants to say more, but words feel so inadequate and he settles for clasping Thorin’s mouth, pushing his tongue inside.

Thorin welcomes the intrusion, twirling his tongue around Kíli’s as he rocks into him again and again. Wanting to take it slow and at the same time feeling so very needy, so achingly hard and so desperate to finish.

“Kíli. Will you come for me?” he groans softly when Kíli allows him his breath, never taking his eyes from that beautiful face underneath him.

“Yes!” Kíli moans, feeling equally desperate. He wriggles underneath his strong lover, trying to find enough friction. He gasps when he finds just the right angle and Thorin hits his mark perfectly. “Again!” he growls, pulling at Thorin’s hair, rocking himself up.

Thorin beams at the sheen of sweat that pearls on Kíli’s brow. _Beautiful_ it races through his head. _He is just stunning like this, on the edge of his climax._ He tries again, hoping that he has the angle right, rocking in the same rhythm as Kíli.

“Yes, Thorin, oooh…” Kíli whines loudly as that gorgeous cock inside him rubs against his prostate again. And with a noise that is somewhere between a moan and a sigh he comes on his king’s cock, trembling from top to toe as he ejaculates. His eyes flutter shut as he gives himself over completely to Thorin, pulling every last drop from his prick.

“My prince. My beautiful beloved,” Thorin looks in awe at his lover’s completely undoing underneath him. It’s the stimulation he needs and with one last thrust his own pleasure explodes in his core, flooding Kíli’s hot sweaty body. He growls loudly, throwing back his head as his prick pulses rapidly, releasing his seed in quick bursts.

Kíli grins at the look of destruction on Thorin’s face. A moment when nothing else matters, when Thorin is nothing more and nothing less than his lover, surrendering himself completely.

He smiles happily as Thorin flops down onto him, burying his face in the hollow of his neck, feeling his stuttering breath as his body jerks softly inside him. He wraps his arms around his king’s broad back, rubbing his fingertips along his spine, delighting in Thorin’s soft whimpers where all his nerve endings have become so sensitive.

“I wish we could do this every night,” Kíli whispers softly in Thorin’s ear.

Thorin looks into Kíli’s eyes. slowly slipping out of him and smiles sadly. “I wish for that too.”

Already Kíli can see the worry and the burden of the king creep back into Thorin’s features and he sighs regretfully. These moments are too rare, too short.

As Thorin rolls himself off him and onto his back, Kíli crawls back into his arms and rests his head on Thorin’s chest. As his fingers trace circles through his lover’s dark chest hair he listens to the rapid heartbeat, wondering what the morning will bring for the both of them.

+++

Ori stares up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. What he had learnt over the last few days, after the many many hours of painful studying, has rocked his world. The lore, the ancient, most precious lore of the dwarves, the foundations of his beliefs, have found to be tainted, interfered with, altered. They are not the sacred words of Mahal given to the dwarves by Father Durin. They are the twisted output of political games, of strategic kings and priests.

_Father Durin lay not alone. Father Durin had a wife, who was made by Mahal out of the same stone, like one womb, making them brother and sister._

He rubs his hand over his chin curtain. The revelation is big enough. But an even bigger question now rests in his mind. _Why did Thorin ask me to translate the scrolls? Did he know what was written in them? Does he know that this will rock the foundations of the Godord? And if so, why does he want to do that? What value does this information hold for the king?i_

Tomorrow he will travel back to Thorin’s Halls. But tonight anxiety keeps his eyes wide open. He is torn. What will Thorin’s reaction be if he hears of his findings? And Gorm! Ori is not quite sure which one of them he fears more and this news is going to offend at least one if not both of them.

He wishes there was someone he could talk to. But Thorin had made is very clear did the mission was secret and not to be discussed with anyone.

“Oh Mahal, what am I to do?” he asks outloud, clasping the band around his wrist that is the symbol of his ordainment and his servitude to the Lord of the Anvil.

_Speak the truth._

Ori blinks and nods. “Zai adshânzu Mahal. I will speak your true word.” _Even if it will cost me my head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamahmarrulmâ - energetic passive jussive form of du mahamrul, which is to make love. Roughly translated as let us make love again.   
> Zarlûnê - my desire-man  
> Zai adshânzu – At your service


	44. Challenge

Balin looks at his brother pacing the room. “Thorin has a point,” he says softly. “We need to have firmer evidence than the word of some low ranking buck.”

“He is trustworthy!” Dwalin growls.

“I am not saying he isn’t,” Balin says calmly. “But Gorm is of equal status to Thorin. And as a representative of Mahal ...”

“Then Thorin should sort him out!" Dwalin interjects.

“Kun,” Balin agrees. “Yes, he should.” He sighs deeply. “I will try and talk to him again. But we both know Thorin has put himself in a vulnerable position. He cannot afford a war of words and honour with the Highpriest whilst he beds the young prince. I suggest we gather information, work out who can be trusted and build our case. Gorm and Suthri are playing a clever game and we need to outwit them, not go in axes raised or we will invite an all-out civil war. With Thorin’s name under question that may not end in our favour.”   

“Are you questioning the honour of the Fahamân?” Dwalin snarls, banging his fist on the table.

“Yes,” Balin nods. “Because someone is sowing doubt into their hearts and Thorin is not countering it. I think we should consider the possibility that Thorin is losing their loyalty.”  

To his surprise, Dwalin grabs him in an embrace. “Thank Mahal that there is at least one other dwarf who can see it,” Dwalin says. “I always knew you were the clever one, brother.”

Balin blinks in surprise, but then returns the embrace silently, unsure what else to say that has not already been said. He has held his tongue about Thorin and Kíli’s inappropriate relationship for many moons now, but it still sits uncomfortably with him. Even if Mahal truly blesses such a joining, as Thorin’s political advisor this is a foolish act nonetheless. But then could one really deny love, deny Mahal’s gift? He had spent as many sleepless nights churning this situation over in his head as surely Thorin had and still felt none the wiser.

When Dwalin breaks the embrace and steps back, he hesitates for a moment and awkwardly rubs his hand across his tattooed skull, across his rapidly receding mohawk. “I eh ... “ he begins, casing Balin to raise a curious eyebrow at his brutish brother.  

“Was there something else?” Balin raises his silver eyebrows.

Dwalin shifts. He'd after with Fíli that they would have this conversation together, but his young lover had been summoned by Thorin almost before they'd opened their eyes. He wants his brother to know though. Amongst everything else he wants to share something good.

“Aye. I … We …” He stops his stutterings and looks at his brother’s bemused face. “Fíli-is-my-One,” he states in one quick breath.

“Your … One?” Balin blinks. “As in …?”

“Mahdulyusth,” Dwalin nods, feeling a furious blush creep into his cheeks.

“But … mî targê, that’s wonderful news!” Balin throws his arms in the air. “Mahal aslâmul. We must announce this greatest of blessings!”

“Lu’!” Dwalin resolutely shakes his head.

“What? But you _have_ to!” Balin scowls. “It would be an insult to our Lord’s generosity not to!”

“Oh shut up, brother,” Dwalin growls. “Mahal will not be offended. We will announce it. But not yet. Not until Ori returns and Thorin and Kíli can announce their blessing first.”

“You really think it will be that easy?” Balin challenges. “That Ori will just stroll in here announcing that the Godord are wrong and Thorin is free to court his own blood and they will live happily ever after?”

When Thorin had told him about Kíli’s findings and the scholar’s assignment Balin had nearly passed out in shock. He had tried to talk Thorin out of the idea, warned him what a very dangerous game he was playing - even if the scrolls were right, raising such a challenge against the Temple was like playing with dragon fire. He had tried to convince the king that a secret courtship with Kíli was a thousand times better than challenging the Kehnar. But as expected his friend and king had had other ideas.

“Thorin is the king!” Dwalin retorts. “And that temple rat had better listen to what he has to say!”

Balin watches his brother stomp outside of the room, shaking his head at his blasphemy. He has a bad feeling about all of this. A very very bad feeling.

+++

“Uzbadê,” the messenger kneels before the large stone throne, “a party approaches.”

Thorin leans himself forward. “A party you say?” _Ori is travelling alone …_ He exchanges a quick glance with Kíli, who shrugs. “A party from where?”

“They carry the banner of Farak-khagal’abbad.”

Thorin’s eyes grow dark. _Suthri!_ “On what business?” he hisses.

“There is no messenger, Uzbad Thorin. The guard …”

“Suthri!!”

Thorin’s head snaps up as Dwalin slams open the doors to the throne room and comes striding in big angry strides towards him, a small group of guards in tow, struggling to keep up with their Uzrak.

“He’s brought an army to our gates!”his broad friend growls.

“An army?!” At that Thorin rises to his feet, towering over those around him as a dark cloud slides across his features, making even Kíli cower for a moment. “For what purpose?”

Dwalin looks at him. The words he want to speak hover on his lips but he does not speak them out loud. _I warned you that this day would come, Thorin! You would not listen. You let this rot spread for too long and now look!_ “What will you have me do, Uzbadê?” he asks, holding Thorin’s gaze, his hand on his sword.

“Ride out. Find out what he wants,” Thorin orders. “Bring Suthri to me. Here. Before my throne. Keep his party at bay.” He motions for Dwalin to leave and execute his orders before sitting himself down heavily back on his throne.

“Thorin …” Kíli begins, but he is quickly silenced by a motion of hands.

“Let us wait and see what Zabad Suthri has to say,” the king says icily. “In the meantime, I will send scouts out to establish the size of this _army_ and whether he has any further battalions scattered in the mountains. I will not be surprised in my own home by _’izbad tada!_ ”

Kíli nods, trying to stay as calm as Thorin. But his heart is beating high in his throat now and he has a hard time suppressing the rising anxiety over this rapidly escalating situation.

+++

Suthri smirks as Thorin's welcoming party, headed up by his brute Dwalin, approaches.

“Suthri!” Dwalin bellows at him before he has good and well halted his goat. “The king wants to speak with you. Alone!” he adds with a menacing growl.

Suthri exchanges a glance with Horth. “Very well,” he nods. “But my advisor and guard come with me.”

Dwalin opens his mouth to argue but decides that it is not an unreasonable request. “Alright. Search them,” he orders his men. “I'm taking no chances with ya Suthri,” he snarls. “Coming here uninvited and armed.”

But the smug look on the southern lord’s face is unsettling him more than anything.

“What's yer business with Thorin?” Dwalin brings his face close to the other lord.

But Suthri does not flinch. “I shall speak with Thorin. Alone, as you say.”

Dwalin bares his teeth but holds his tongue. Suthri still holds a higher rank than him and he will not give the dwarf any ammunition to claim insult. He quickly scans the small gathering behind the other dwarf, taking note of numbers and trying to assess strength and skill underneath the armour. “Let’s go!” he snaps as soon as his men have confirmed their searches are clear.

+++

“I am Suthri, son of Thrain son of Thror!” Suthri calls out. “And I'm here to claim my birthright!”

Thorin’s eyes flame. “Your birthright? You have NO birthright. What claim are you staking?” he scowls at the shorter dwarf before him.

Suthri smirks. “The throne, _brother._ ”

Balin gasps audibly at the blatant statement.

But Thorin just begins to laugh. “You challenge me, _brother?”_ he sneers. He knows that his fat half-brother will be a poor match for a trained and seasoned warrior like himself, even if he has not yet regained his full strength after his illness. He knows Suthri has not crossed swords for decades, finding the exercise unworthy as he prefered to order rather than to lead.

But the younger dwarf seems unfazed. “Challenge you to combat? No, Thorin, that will not be necessary,” he smirks.

“What do you mean?” Thorin hisses, leaning himself forward, his eyebrows furrowed into a deep scowl.

“I mean that before sundown you will have surrendered the throne willingly to me.”

“And why by Mahal’s glorious beard would I do such a thing?!”

“Because,” Suthri’s face contorts into an evil grin, “if you do not surrender willingly, Thorin son of Thrain, I will lay bare your sins for all to hear. Tell them about you and the young princeling here,” he grimaces at Kíli, who is stood at Thorin’s side with his hand on his sword’s hilt.

“What about Kíli?” Thorin challenges, but there is just a hint of a wobble in his voice now. He can sense how the others have all tensed around him - Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin and Balin - the only dwarves he had trusted enough to be part of this conversation knowing full well that secrets would be revealed at this unwanted encounter - but not this one!

“Honestly Thorin? You deny it? You deny that you are bedding your side-son?”

“That’s preposterous!” Balin steps in before Thorin can respond. “How dare you accuse the King of this! What proof have you to back up such an outrageous claim?!”

But Suthri holds Thorin’s gaze confidently as Horth steps up the Balin. “We have witnesses,” the lord’s advisor smirks wickedly.

“Aye.” Suthri glares at Thorin, enjoying the thoughts that he can see flit through his darkened eyes, which are undoubtedly going through every dwarf under his rule wondering _who_?! “Now if you will excuse me,” he says, “it is time for prayer. As I understand from the Kehnar it is unlikely that I will see you in the Temple, Thorin. I shall return here at sundown so that you may handover the affairs.” With that Suthri turns himself around and with his advisor hot on his heels strides down the bridge to leave the hall.

“He is bluffing,” Thorin growls as he gets to his feet and starts to pace.

“Then how does he know?” Kíli is quick to throw in as he strides up to his agitated lover. “Someone must have told him! And it was not anybody here!”

Thorin stops his pacing abruptly as he scans the four dwarves around him, suspicion curling inside him. “Wasn’t it?” he narrows his eyes as he turns from one dwarf to the other. “How can I be sure?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Dwalin snaps. “Why would any of us tell that orc about you and Kíli?”

“Then who?!” Thorin feels his temper pulse hot. “Who else knows?!”

“‘Amad,” Fíli says softly. “But she wouldn’t …”

“Skírvir knows,” Kíli says softly.

“What?! How?!” Thorin looks at him in shock.

Kíli instinct to take a step backwards under Thorin’s hard stare but he holds himself in place. “I _had_ _to_ explain,” he defends himself. “I am not _that_ unworthy that no-one shows me any interest during the festivals!”

Thorin’s eyes blow wide at this new revelation. “Excuse me?!”

Fíli too stares at his brother incredulously, barely aware that his mouth has dropped open.

“What happened?” Thorin presses through gritted teeth, his chest feeling tight with a new wave of emotions.

“Nothing!” Kíli snaps back. “He made me an offer and I declined! What was I supposed to say?” He knows it is not the whole truth, but the look in Thorin’s eyes is enough of a warning not to mention the kiss.

“Bring him here,” Thorin whips his head round to Dwalin. When the other hesitates for just a moment, he adds loudly, “NOW!”

“Thorin!” Kíli grabs for his lover’s arm as Dwalin leaves the hall, but Thorin is quick to shrug himself lose as he walks back to his throne and seats himself down again. “It cannot be anyone else!” he hisses under his breath. “He wishes to court you, my One, and now he seeks to ruin me!”

“You are drawing conclusions out of nothing!” Kíli argues back, concern racing through his mind - _What if Skirvir_ did _betray me?_ _But then, what if he did not?! Who else could it be?_ “You cannot assume it was him!” he adds, but even his initial surety wavers a little.

“You are standing up for him now?” Thorin glares at his young beloved.

“No! I am just saying that it might not have been him!” Kíli frowns at his uncle.

“We shall see,” Thorin says curtly.

Balin looks from the two princes to the king. Fíli has wisely kept his lips sealed until now, but as he opens his mouth to add his own thoughts to the conversation, Balin quickly steps in, steering the conversation back to the primary issue. “What do you want to do about Suthri, Thorin? Regardless of whether it was Skirvir or someone else, how will you respond to his threat?”

Thorin’s face turns dark as he grabs the arm rests of the stone throne. “Kill him,” he hisses.

“I beg your pardon?” Balin chokes out.

“Uncle, he's brought an army at his back. Will you have war with the Southern faction?!” Fíli utters in shock.

“Kill him and anyone who challenges me!” Thorin retorts angrily, balling his fists. “I have let him get away with his games for far too long.”

“And then what, Thorin? What about Gorm? If Suthri knows about you and Kíli,” Balin points out, “then so will Gorm. And do not even think about that. You cannot execute the Kehnar without trial.”

“Balin is right, Thorin,” Kíli says. “We need Ori to come back and tell everyone that our love is not a sin. Until then... “

“Then where is he?!!” Thorin bellows. “What is taking him so long?! Send someone south to find out why he has not returned yet!” He orders Kíli, then turns to Balin. “And what will you have me do then? Surrender my throne to Suthri? My kingdom?! I will NOT!”

+++

Skirvir feels his heart bounce around in his chest as he follows Dwalin towards the throne room. Ever since they had returned to Thorin’s Halls he had seen little of Kíli. The prince was now the king’s personal guard and lived in the king’s quarters. There was little reason for him and Kíli to cross paths inside these halls. Skirvir had been grateful for that mostly. His pride was still sore from the rejection and his head was still disturbed by what Kíli had revealed to him. Indeed, the few times that he had seen the prince at the side of his uncle, Skirvir had felt sick at the thought of what they clearly shared in private. It was not right, for sure. Despite what Kíli had told him, the law was clear. To lie with one's own blood, one's side-father, was sinful. An abomination.

Skirvir had heard the rumours of course. Near every buck had heard either directly or via the grapevine how Gorm had warned of Thorin's madness, of his arrogance towards the Temple and his disregard for the Sacred Laws. _And he doesn't know the half of it!_ Skirivir had shuddered.

He had thought long and hard what to do with the information that Kíli, the dwarf he had once desired above all others, had told him in confidence. It was a grand and dangerous secret, one that he wished Kíli had never told him. One that could only lead to bad things, one way or another. Perhaps Gorm was right. Perhaps Thorin really was mad. Perhaps Kíli was even a victim of his wickedness.

And now he was being summoned to appear before the king. The look on Uzrak Dwalin’s face did not hide that this was bad news for him. How much does Thorin know about his disloyalty? he wonders.

He barely has time to think about that though as Dwalin has marched them at speed towards the throne room and has already pushed open the heavy doors under watchful eye of the guards outside, before ordering him to step forward and face the King.

+++

Thorin eyes suspiciously the young dwarf brought before him. He had never paid Skirvir much attention before. In fact before Kíli had chosen the dwarf as his personal guard he had not known his name. There were many dwarrow now in his mountain kingdom; their population had steadily expanded both through mating and immigration of other folk who wished to share in the relative prosperity of new settlement. He could not possibly know every one of them by name. When Kíli had told him of his choice of company Thorin had taken Dwalin’s assessment on their suitability; these were his men, his army. And his friend had assured him that the tall broad youth was strong and trustworthy. But now that he stands before him Thorin can only think one thing. _He made a pass on Kíli. And when Kíli turned him down he betrayed us._

Skirvir kneels before his king and stays still as a rock as he utters in a voice way higher than his own, “Shamukh Thorin Thrainul Throrul Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul.”

“Rise!” Thorin barks and watches the young dwarf scramble to his feet.

Skirvir tries his best to stand still, not to shift under the intense stare from the king. This is the closest he had ever been to the king and up close Thorin is even more intimidating, in his impressive dark blue velvet and gold regalia and with the heavy gold circlet with a large sapphire in the centre - the stone and colour of the House of Durin - on his brow. Thorin may not flaunt his wealth in the way he had seen Zabad Suthri do, but here on his throne in the giant Hall, there is no question that Thorin is the king.

When moments pass without Thorin speaking to him, Skirvir has to bite his lip not to ask why he has been brought here. But he knows better than to speak before he has been spoken to by his chieftain. What makes the whole situation even more unnerving, however, is the presence of Kíli, stood close to Thorin’s throne as both his heir and his guard. But when Skirvir throws him a surreptitious glance he finds that Kíli is - at least on the face of it - ignoring his presence.

The glance, however, does not pass the king by and Thorin feels a jealous sting flare hot inside him. “Look at ME!” he growls. When the dwarf’s gaze snaps back to his own he questions, “Do you know why you are here?”

Skirvir shakes his head, quickly followed with a croaked, “I do not, my king. I was told you wished to speak with me urgently.”

Thorin narrows his eyes, trying to read the other dwarf. ”You accompanied irakdashatê on his assignment to Farak-khagal’abbad. During this journey Uzrak Kíli told you a secret.” Skirvir can feel his blood run cold at that. “Have you told anyone else about this?” Thorin does not waste any words. “No my king!” Skirvir answers without hesitation. “Anything that Uzrak Kíli told me in confidence has not passed my lips.”

Thorin considers the response. There is nothing obvious that betrays the younger dwarf, but then again he has been trained under the royal guard. “You are swearing to _me_ , Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul, that you have told no-one that Uzrak Kíli is mahdulyasthûnê?”

Skirvir is unable to stifle his gasp. He had not expected Thorin to speak so frankly to him, let alone utter such a blasphemous statement out loud. He can see Balin shift on the king’s other side as Kíli keeps his eyes trained on a point beyond Skirvir, still not making eye contact.

“I … My lord, I have said nothing of what Zabdûnadashatê Kíli told me, this I swear!”

“Arrest him,” Thorin orders Dwalin, keeping his eyes trained on Skirvir.

“But Thorin …” Kíli is unable to keep his mouth shut at that unexpected command, “he’s sworn it was not him.”

“I will take no risks,” Thorin snaps his eyes to Kíli’s. “Perhaps my dungeons will remind him of the truth he is not yet speaking. In any case, he made an offer to my One. And for that he will be punished.”

“Uzbadê …” Skirvir pleads with a sharp intake of breath in shock as his arms are pulled behind his back by Dwalin.

“Thorin, he did not know I was your One!” Kíli utters in shock at his uncle’s order. “Not until I explained why I was not free to court. He was not to know! It was my mistake, my lie!”

“SILENCE!” Thorin bellows, rising to his feet. “Take him away!” He orders Dwalin with a sharp move of his hand. And to Kíli, “I am riding out. And you will accompany me as I will see with my own eyes this _army_ Suthri has summoned.”

“My lord! My king!” Skirvir tries desperately for Thorin’s mercy, but Dwalin hisses in his ear, “If ya know what’s good for ya, ye’d best be quiet!” and begins to drag him away.

“Why did you do that?!” Kíli scowls at Thorin. “He swore he did not speak of it! And he knew not of us when he made his move. Thorin, you cannot do this!”

But Thorin looks calm as he turns to Kíli, Balin and Fíli. “I said I will not take the risk. He may have held his tongue thus far, but who is to say he will continue to do so when it matters most? He knows too much and his loyalty to the House of Durin will be tested severely over the days to come. I will not volunteer a witness to support Suthri’s threat. Once this is all over and our plight has been sanctioned by the Temple then he may have back his freedom. Until then he is a threat and will be treated as such. Now, ride out with me. Both of you. Let us see what of a threat my _brother_ has brought to my gates.”

+++

Ori sways in the saddle and groans softly as the movement of the pony chafes his legs painfully. His guard is clearly an experienced rider but Ori had never had the need to be this high off the ground before. He desperately wants to ask the other if they can please make another stop, but he had already received an annoyed glare the last time he had asked for a break from the uncomfortable mode of transport and he is afraid to ask again and look foolish and unworthy in the eyes of the more experienced rider. He may be a scribe and not a warrior, but he still is a proud dwarf and he does not like to be thought of as weak.

As he raises his eyes to the road ahead he almost sighs audibly in relief as he can see the peaks of Fahamkhagal’abbad rise up in the distance. Only one more day of this agonising journey.

One more day before he has to choose his loyalties between the King and the Highpriest …

And he wonders if this today’s sunset may be the last he will ever see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mî targê - by my beard!  
> Mahal aslâmul - roughly translated as Mahal is generous (lit. abundant)  
> ’izbad tada - that lesser lord. ‘Izbad is a sublative form of zabad and here is used as a derogative term, undermining the status of Suthri. In rank ‘izbad would be the lowest of the ranks.  
> Shamukh Thorin Thrainul Throrul Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul - Hail Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of Durin’s Folk  
> Irakdashatê - my side-son (nephew)  
> Zabdûnadashatê - princess-son (prince)


	45. Appendix - khuzdul names

**Khuzdul Place Names**

Azsâlul'urd - Lonely Mountain (Erebor)

Azsâlzudûn - Lone Lands (Eriador)

Basnbizar - Foot Dale (Dale)

Fahamkhagal’abbad - North Blue Mountains

Farakfundsilfîn - South Haven (Harlond)

Farak-khagal’abbad - South Blue Mountains

Gabilgathol - Great Fortress (Belegost)

Hundzudnu - Hill Land (Dunland)

Khagal'abbad - Blue Mountains (Ered Luin)

Khagal’ân - Blue River (the Lhûn)

Kharbânzudnu - Horsemen Land (Rohan)

Thafarsilafîn - Grey Havens (Silafîn comes from sâlaf and literally means ship-places)

Urâd Zirnul - Iron Hills (Ereb. term. Also known as Zirinhanâd)

 

**Dwarven Clans**

Fantnuhûb - Broadbeams

Farakân - shortened reference to the dwarves of the Southern Blue Mountains

Fahamân - shortened reference to the dwarves of the Northern Blue Mountains

Kanâg Durinul - Durin's Folk

Sigintarâg - Longbeards

'Urstarâg - Firebeards

 

**Deities and their Realms - Khuzdul versus Quenya**

Lagân - Valar (the gods)

Legnar Sulladad - Eru Ilúvatar (lit. Surpreme God, All-Father)

Mahal - Aulë, god who created the dwarves (lit. Maker)

Khajmûna Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna, wife of Mahal, (lit. Giver-lady, Earth Queen)

Lignîn - Valinor, realm of the Valar

Dûmu Itdên - Halls of Waiting, realm of Mahal

Dûmu Nuzr - Halls of Mandos (lit. Halls of the Custodian, which is a rough translation of the Quenyan name). Where the souls of the dead (certainly elves and humans) went. This story assumes that the dwarves do not go to the same place as the elves, which is generally what the Legendarium suggests. 

 

**Titles (in order of rank)**

'izbad - lower lord

zabad (plur. zabbad) - lord

'uzbad - higher lord

uzbad - king

Uzbadu Kanâg Durinul - King of Durin's Folk 

zebdar - supreme king (the one who wields the king's jewel)

 

ukhan - priest

kehnar - high priest

lagânuglab - gods-speaker, he who speaks on behalf of the gods

 

uzrak - master (here used as captain)

uzraku shumr - captain of the guard

 

ukrag - (lit. honorer) free dwarf who holds a partly military and partly servile form of tenure

 

U’zan - The Destructor (Sauron)

 

** Festivals **

Iklaladranamrâg - Midwinter Fest (Cold Season Fest)

Zannu Abkân - Night of the Awakening (last night of Iklaladranamrâg)

Mamahduldanakhamrâg – Spring Fest (Blessed Green Fest)

Garg-buzrâmrâg - Deep Ale Fest or Harnkegger Fest, a traditional feast of Khagal'abbad although later adopted by many Clans

Zudraibrizamrâg - Midsummer Fest (High Sun Fest)

 

** Miscellaneous **

Dumsel - lit. Law of laws (ultimative form). Can also be translated as Judgement or Doom. A law that overarches both the Temple Laws and the Common Laws of the King, i.e. one that allows the Godord to have a say in the execution of law enforcement and in particular the punishment laid down.

Malkûn – halfling. Nb. According to the dwarrowscholar this is also the dwarvish word for Hobbit, however, I disagree on this point since hafling was used by men in reference to a hobbit’s size. Since they are not that much shorter than dwarves (average 3 ft 6 in compared to 4 ft 6 in for dwarves) that reference does not make any sense. Instead I would expect dwarves to refer to hobbits as something like zanâtulbasnûn – hairy-feet-men, since dwarvish names for animals and the like are often descriptions of their physicality.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information of the language of the dwarves please refer to my Khuzdul Lessons blog - https://khuzdulfordurins.wordpress.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Young Thorin Oakenshield](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157110) by [delorita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delorita/pseuds/delorita)




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